\« 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT    LOS  ANGELES 


THE  AUTIIOK   AM)    HIS  WIFE  IPOX   THE  TRAIL. 


In  To 
The  Yukon 


BY 

WILLIAM  SEYMOUR  EDWARDS 


WITH  MANY  ILLUSTRATIONS 
AND  MAPS 


THIRD  EDITION 


cincinnati 
Press  of  Jennings  &  Graham 


copyrisht,  1904,  by 
William  Seymour  Edwards 


PUBLISHED      NOVEMBER,      1004 
RK  PRINTED    JUNE        ll/Oo 


DEDICATION. 


TO    THE    COMRADE    WHOSE    CHARMING    COMPANIONSHIP 

ADDED    SO    GREATLY    TO    THE    DELIGHTS    OF    MY 

TWO     MONTHS'  OUTING,  THIS     LITTLE 

VOLUME   IS    AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED. 

THE    AUTHOR. 


iii 

21.214.8 


PREFACE 
TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 


"  In  To  The  Yukon  "  has  been  so  kindly  received 
by  the  public  that  the  publisher  is  encouraged  to  issue 
a  third  edition.  The  Great  Yukon  River  flows  on 
amidst  the  stupendous  wilderness ;  the  mountains,  the 
forests,  the  foaming,  swift-running  waters  remain  to- 
day and  to-morrow  even  as  they  were  on  yesterday; 
man's  presence  is  here  a  mere  passing  incident. 
Even  yet  the  gold,  hid  in  the  illimitable  sands,  lies 
mostly  undiscovered,  even  as  it  has  lain  for  ten  mil- 
lion years.  The  Lure  of  the  Wild  still  broods  over 
the  great  valley  and  the  great  river  and  its  wondrous 
lakes,  even  as  when  these  letters  were  first  written. 
So  I  leave  them  as  they  are,  feeling  that  the  passage 
of  a  few  brief  years  can  not  materially  lessen  the  mys- 
tery and  the  fascination  of  the  Arctic  North  which 
then  fell  upon  me  and  stirred  my  pen. 

THE  AUTHOR. 
July,  1909.      . 


PREFACE. 

These  letters  were  not  written  for  publication  originally. 
They  were  written  for  the  home  circle  and  the  few  friends 
who  might  care  to  read  them.  They  are  the  brief  narrative 
of  daily  journeyings  and  experiences  during  a  very  delight- 
ful two  months  of  travel  into  the  far  north  and  along  the 
Pacific  slope  of  our  continent.  Some  of  the  letters  were 
afterwards  published  in  the  daily  press.  They  are  now  put 
into  this  little  book  and  a  few  of  the  Kodak  snapshots  taken 
are  given  in  half-tone  prints. 

We  were  greeted  with  much  friendliness  along  the 
way  and  were  the  recipients  of  many  courtesies.  None 
showed  us  greater  attention  than  the  able  and  considerate 
officials  of  the  Pacific  Coast  S.  S.  Co.,  the  Alaska  S.  S.  Co. 
and  the  White  Pass  and  Yukon  Railway  Co.,  including 
Mr.  Kekewich,  managing  Director  of  the  London  Board, 
and  Mr.  Newell,  Vice-President  of   the  Company. 

At  Atlin  and  Dawson  we  met  and  made  many  friends, 
and  we  would  here  reiterate  to  them,  one  and  all,  our 
warm   appreciation   of   their   hospitalities. 

William  Seymour  Edwards. 
Charleston-Kanawha,  West  Virginia, 
August,  1904. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE. 

I.    The  Great  Lakes.     Cleveland  to  Detroit..  13 
II.    St.  Paul,  Winnipeg  and  Banff;   the  Wheat 

Lands  of  the  Far  Northwest  20 

III.  Banff   to   Vancouver   Across    the   Rockies 

and    Selkirks     38 

IV.  Vancouver  and  Skagway;    Fjords  and   For- 

ests      52 

V.  Skagway,  Caribou  Crossing  and  Atlin 75 

VI.  The  Great  Llewellyn  or  Taku  Glacier. 109 

VII.  Voyaging  Down  the  Mighty  Yukon 112 

VIII.    Dawson  and  the  Golden  Klondike 132 

IX.     Men  of  the  Klondike  170 

X.     Dog  Lore  of  the  North  180 

XI.    How  the  Government  Searches  for  Gold...  195 
XII.    Seattle,  the  Future  Mistress  of  the  Trade 

and  Commerce  of  the  North 206 

XIII.  The  Valley  of  the  Willamette 224 

XIV.  San  Francisco  230 

XV.    Los  Angeles  249 

XVI.     San  Francisco  and  Salt  Lake  City 260 

XVII.    A  Broncho-busting  Match 282 

XVIII.    Colorado   and    Denver    300 

XIX.    Across   Nebraska    307 

XX.    Along  Iowa  and  into  Missouri  to  St.  Louis.  314 

Index    333 

vll 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE. 

The  Author  and  His  Wife  Upon  the  Trail Frontispiece. 

The  Waterside,  Cleveland   15 

Entrance    St.    Clair    Canal 15 

White  Bear  Lake,  St.  Paul 31 

Down    the    Silver    Bow— Banff 31 

A  Reach  of  the  Fraser  River 41 

Big  Douglas  Fir — Vancouver  Park , 45 

Victoria,  B.  C— The  Harhor 49 

Leaving  Vancouver    53 

Awaiting   Cargo — Vancouver,    B.    C 57 

Totem  Poles  at  Ketchikan 61 

Glaciers  on  Frederick  Sound , 63 

Approaching  Fort  Wrangel    67 

The  Pier — Fort  Wrangel   67 

The  Pier — Skagway  71 

Lynn  Canal  from  the  Summit  of  White  Pass 71 

Looking  Down  White  Pass 73 

The  Summit— White  Pass   73 

Railway  Train — Skagway    77 

The   International   Boundary 77 

Early  September  Snow,  Caribou  Crossing 79 

Caribou    Crossing 79 

A  Vista  on  Lake  Marsh 83 

Woodland  Along  Lake  Marsh 83 

On  the  Trail  at  Caribou 85 

View  Near   Caribou    Crossing 85 

ix 


PAGE. 

The  Taku  River 89 

Lake    Atlin 91 

Dogs,  Atlin   91 

Atlin    Baggage    Express 95 

Atlin   City   Waterworks 95 

Government  Mail  Crossing  Lake  Atlin 99 

Miner's  Cabin  on  Spruce  Creek,  Atlin  Gold  Diggings. .  99 

Finding  "Color,"  a  Good  Strike,  Otter  Creek,  B.  C...  103 

Sluicing  for  Gold,  Otter  Creek,  B.  C 103 

An  Atlin  Gold  Digger 105 

Bishop  and  Mrs.   Bompas 113 

Great  Llewellyn   or   Taku   Glacier 113 

Fishing  for  Grayling,  White  Horse  Rapids 117 

Moonlight  on  Lake  Le  Barge 119 

Lake  Bennett,  from   Our  Car 119 

A    Yukon    Sunset 123 

The    Upper    Yukon 123 

A  Yukon  Coal  Mine 125 

Five  Finger  Rapids  on  the  Yukon 125 

Coming  Up  the  Yukon 129 

The  "Sarah"  Arriving  at  Dawson,  1,600  Miles  up  from 

St.    Michael's 133 

The  Levee,   Dawson — Our   Steamer 133 

Dawson  City,  The  Yukon — Looking  Down 137 

Dawson  and  Mouth  of  Klondike  River,  Looking  Up..  137 

Second   Avenue,   Dawson 141 

Dawson — View  Down  the  Yukon 141 

The  Cecil — The  First  Hotel  in  Dawson 143 

A  Private  Carriage,   Dawson 143 

Dog  Corral — The  Fastest  Team  in  Dawson 147 


PAGH. 

A  Potato  Patch  at  Dawson . 147 

First    Agricultural    Fair    Held    at    Dawson,    Septem- 
ber,   1903 151 

Daily  Stage  on  Bonanza 155 

Discovery  Claim  on  Bonanza  of  the  Klondike 155 

Looking  Up  the  Klondike  River 159 

The  Author  at  White  Horse  Rapids 159 

"Mes   Enf ants,"    Malamute   Pups 161 

A    Klondike    Cabin 161 

On  the  Yukon 175 

Floating  Down  the  Yukon 175 

Approaching    Seattle 181 

With  and  Without 181 

Malamute  Team  of  Government  Mail  Carrier,  Dawson  187 

Breaking  of  the  Yukon— May  17,  1903 187 

Sun    Dogs 189 

Winter    Landscape 189 

Lake    Bennett 197 

The  Height  of  Land,  White  Pass 197 

Mt.  Ranier  or  Tacoma 217 

Along  the  Columbia  River 221 

A   Big  Redwood 235 

Italian  Fishing  Craft  at  Santa  Cruz 239 

Approaching  San  Francisco 239 

The  Franciscan  Garden — Santa  Barbara 243 

Our    Franciscan    Guide 243 

The  Sea — Santa  Barbara   (two  views) 245 

Marengo   Avenue,   Pasadena 251 

Street  View,   Los   Angeles 251 

The  Sagebrush  and  Alkali  Desert 263 


PAGE. 

The   Mormon    Temple 267 

The   Mormon   Tithing   House 271 

The  Mormon  "Lion  House" 271 

Great  Salt  Lake 277 

Nuckolds  Putting  on  the  Hoodwink 285 

Nuckolds,   "The   Broncho   Busted" 285 

Grimsby  and  the  Judges 289 

Bunn,   Making  Rope   Bridle 289 

Arizona  Moore  Up 293 

Arizona    Moore 293 

The  Crowd  at  the  Broncho-Busting  Match 298 

The    Dun-colored    Devil 298 

On    the    Great   Kanawha 325 

Our   Kanawha   Garden 327 

Map  of  Route  in  the  United  States 329 

Map  of  Upper  Yukon  Basin 331 


sii 


In  To  The  Yukon 


FIRST    LETTER. 

THE   GREAT    LAKES,    CLEVELAND   TO    DETROIT. 

Steamer  Northwest,  on  Lake  Superior,  \ 
August  11,  1903.     J 

We  reached  Cleveland  just  in  time  to  catch  the 
big  liner,  which  cast  off  her  cables  almost  as  soon  as 
we  were  aboard.  A  vessel  of  5,000  tons,  a  regular  sea 
ship.  The  boat  was  packed  with  well-dressed  people, 
out  for  a  vacation  trip,  most  of  them.  By  and  by 
we  began  to  pass  islands,  and  about  2  p.m.  turned 
into  a  broad  channel  between  sedgy  banks — the 
Detroit  River.  Many  craft  we  passed  and  more 
overtook,  for  we  were  the  fastest  thing  on  the  lakes 
as  well  as  the  biggest. 

Toward  3  p.  m.,  the  tall  chimneys  of  the  huge 
salt  works  and  the  church  spires  of  the  city  of  Detroit 
began  to  come  into  view.  A  superb  water  front, 
several  miles  long,  and  great  warehouses  and  sub- 
stantial buildings  of  brick  and  stone,  fit  for  a  vast 
commerce. 

The  sail  up  the  Detroit  River,  through  Lake  St. 
Clair,  and  then  up  the  St.  Clair  River  to  Lake  Huron, 
was  as  lovely  a  water  trip  as  any  I  have  made.     The 

13 


14  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

superb  park  "Belle  Isle,"  the  pride  of  Detroit;  the 
many,  very  many,  villas  and  cottages  all  along  the 
water-side,  hundreds  of  them;  everywhere  boats, 
skiffs,  launches,  naphtha  and  steam,  all  filled  with 
Sunday  pleasure  excursionists,  the  many  great  pleas- 
ure excursion  steamers  loaded  down  with  passengers, 
gave  a  life  and  liveliness  to  the  water  views  that 
astonished  and  pleased  us. 

The  Lake  St.  Clair  is  about  twenty  miles  across, 
apparently  broader  than  it  is,  for  the  reason  that  its 
sedgy  margins  are  so  wide  that  the  trees  and  higher 
land  further  back  seem  the  real  border  of  the  lake. 
What  is  called  the  "St.  Clair  Flats"  are  the  wide, 
low-lying  lands  on  each  side  of  the  long  reaches  of 
the  St.  Clair  River.  Twenty  miles  of  cottages,  hotels, 
club-houses,  are  strung  along  the  water-side,  each  with 
its  little  pier  and  its  boats. 

Towards  dark — eight  o'clock — we  came  to  Sarnia 
and  Port  Huron,  and  pointed  out  into  the  great  lake, 
second  in  depth  to  Superior — larger  than  any  but 
Superior — a  bit  of  geography  I  had  quite  forgotten. 

At  dawn  on  Monday,  we  were  skirting  the  high- 
wooded  southern  shore,  and  by  11  a.  m.  sighted  the 
fir-clad  heights  of  Mackinac  where  Lake  Michi- 
gan comes  in.  Here  is  a  beautiful  protected  bay, 
where  is  a  big  hotel,  and  the  good  people  of  Chicago 
come  to  forget  the  summer  heats.  After  half  an 
hour,  we  turned  again  and  toward  the  north,  in  a 
half  circle,  and  by  4  p.  m.  were  amidst  islands  and 
in  a  narrow  channel,  the  St.  Mary's  River. 


THE  WATERSIDE,   CLEVELAND. 


ENTRANCE   ST.   CLAIR   CANAL 


THE   GREAT   LAKES.  17 

Huron  is  a  deep  blue  like  Superior,  and  unlike  the 
green  of  shallow  Erie.  The  channel  toward  the  Soo 
ia  very  tortuous — many  windings  and  sharp  turns, 
marked  by  buoys  and  multitudinous  beacon  lights. 
All  along  we  had  passed  great  numbers  of  steamships 
and  barges — ore  carriers,  but  nowhere  saw  a  large 
sailing  craft,  only  a  sail  boat  here  and  there.  This 
entire  extensive  traffic  is  a  steam  traffic,  and  though 
we  see  many  boats,  they  are  black  and  sombre,  and 
burdened  with  coal  and  ore. 

It  was  late,  nearly  seven  o'clock,  when  we  steamed 
slowly  into  the  lock  basin  at  the  Soo.  High  fir-clad 
hills  on  either  hand ;  a  multitude  of  channels  among 
wooded  islands.  A  new  and  vigorous  manufacturing 
community  growing  up  on  either  shore  where  the 
electric  power  is  being  harnessed.  Many  build- 
ings, many  new  residences,  some  of  them  large  and 
imposing,  covering  the  sloping  hillsides.  The  rapids 
are  a  mile  or  more  in  length  and  half  a  mile  wide. 
The  American  canal  with  its  locks  is  on  the  south 
side.  One,  the  old  lock,  small;  the  other,  large  and 
deep  for  modern  traffic.  We  were  here  delayed  more 
than  two  hours  by  reason  of  the  pack  of  boats  ahead 
of  us.  It  was  dark  when  we  came  out  of  the  lock — 
a  lift  of  twenty-one  feet.  But  meantime,  the  hills  on 
either  hand  had  burst  out  into  hundreds  of  electric 
lights,  betokening  a  much  greater  population  than 
I  had  conceived.  As  we  entered  the  American  lock, 
a  big  black  ship,  almost  as  large  as  ours,  crept  in 
behind  us  to  the  Canadian  lock  on  the  river's  further 


18  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

side — one  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  line  going  to  Fort 
William. 

It  was  a  full  moon  as  we  came  out  of  the  upper 
river  and  lost  ourselves  in  the  blackness  of  Lake 
Superior.  A  keen,  crisp  wind,  a  heavier  swell  than 
on  the  lakes  below.  We  were  continually  passing 
innumerable  craft  with  their  dancing  night  lights. 
The  tonnage  that  now  goes  through  the  Soo  canals 
is  greater  than  that  of  Suez.  How  little  could  the 
world  have  dreamed  of  this  a  few  years  ago! 

To-day  when  I  came  on  deck  we  were  just 
entering  the  ship  canal  that  makes  the  short  cut  by 
way  of  Houghton.  A  cold  mist  and  rain,  fir-trees 
and  birches,  small  and  stunted,  a  cold  land.  A 
country  smacking  strongly  of  Norway.  No  wonder 
the  Scandinavians  and  Finns  take  to  a  land  so  like 
their  own. 

At  Houghton  we  were  in  the  center  of  the  copper 
region.  A  vigorous  town,  many  handsome  resi- 
dences. But  it  has  been  cold  all  day.  Mercury  56 
degrees  this  morning.  A  sharp  wind  from  the  north. 
The  bulk  of  the  passengers  are  summer  tourists  in 
thin  gauze  and  light  clothing,  and  all  day  they  are 
shivering  in  the  cabin  under  cover,  while  we  stay 
warm  out  on  deck. 

The  food  is  excellent,  and  the  famous  planked 
white  fish  is  our  stand-by. 

This  whole  trip  is  a  great  surprise  to  me.  The 
splendid  great  ship,  the  conveniences  and  luxury 
equalling    any    trans-Atlantic    liner.       The    variety 


THE   GREAT    LAKES.  19 

and  beauty  of  the  scenery,  the  differences  in  the 
lakes,  their  magnitude,  the  islands,  the  tributary 
rivers  with  their  great  flow  of  clear  water,  the  vast 
traffic  of  multitudinous  big  boats.  The  life  and  vigor 
and  stir  of  this  north  country !  Many  of  the  passen- 
gers are  going  to  the  Yellowstone.  We  will  reach 
Duluth  about  10  p.  m.,  and  leave  by  the  11 :10  Great 
Northern  train  for  St.  Paul. 


20  IN  TO  THE  YUKON. 


SECOND  LETTER. 

ST.    PAUL,    WINNIPEG    AND    BANFF;    THE    WHEAT    LANDS 
OF    THE    FAR    NORTHWEST. 

St.  Paul,  Minnesota,  August  13,  1903. 

We  have  spent  two  delightful  clays  in  St.  Paul, 
great  city  of  the  Northwest  that  it  is.  We  came  over 
from  West  Superior  by  the  "Great  Northern"  route, 
very  comfortably  in  a  new  and  fresh-kept  sleeper — 
a  night's  ride.  I  was  early  awake  and  sat  for  an 
hour  watching  the  wide  flat  farming  country  of  Min- 
nesota. Not  much  timber,  never  a  cornfield,  much 
wheat  and  oats  and  hay  land.  A  black,  rich  soil. 
Still  a  good  deal  of  roll  to  the  landscape,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  a  certain  premonition  of  the  greater,  more 
boundless  flatness  of  the  land  yet  further  west.  And 
a  land,  as  well,  of  many  picturesque  little  lakes  and 
pools.  I  now  the  more  perfectly  comprehend  why 
the  Indian  word  "Minne,"  water,  comes  in  so  often 
among  the  names  and  titles  of  Minne-sota. 

The  farm  houses  and  farm  buildings  we  pass  are 
large  and  well  built,  and  here  and  there  I  see  a  build- 
ing which  might  be  along  the  Baegna  Valley  or  the 
Telemarken  Fjords  of  Norway,  it  is  so  evidently 
Norse.    There  are,  as  yet,  but  few  people  at  the  way- 


NORTHWEST  WHEAT  LANDS.  21 

stations.  We  are  a  through  flyer,  and  the  earlier 
commuters  are  not  yet  astir. 

About  the  houses  and  barns,  also,  I  notice  a  cer- 
tain snugness,  indicative  of  winters  that  are  cold. 

Now,  we  are  nearing  the  city,  there  are  more  men 
at  the  way-stations.  It  is  evident  that  the  early 
morning  local  will  follow  us  close  behind. 

We  came  into  the  big  Union  Depot  on  time.  The 
air  was  crisp  and  dry.  There  was  much  bustle  and 
ado.  These  people  move  with  an  alert  vigor,  their 
cheeks  are  rosy,  their  eyes  are  snappy,  and  I  like  the 
swing  of  their  shoulders  as  they  step  briskly  along 
the  streets.  Mankind  migrates  along  earth's  paral- 
lels of  latitude,  so  'tis  said — and  Minnesota  and  the 
great  Northwest  is  but  another  New  England  and 
New  York.  Vermont  and  New  Hampshire,  Massa- 
chusetts and  New  York  have  sent  her  their  ablest 
sons  and  daughters,  while  Ontario  and  Quebec  and 
the  Maritime  Provinces  have  contributed  to  her  pop- 
ulation of  their  force  and  power.  Upon  and  among 
this  matrix  of  superior  American  and  Canadian  stock, 
has  also  been  superimposed  many  thousands  of  the 
more  energetic  and  vigorous  men,  women  and  chil- 
dren of  Europe's  ancient  warlike  breeds — the  viking 
Northmen  of  Norway  and  Sweden  and  of  Denmark, 
of  all  Scandinavia.  A  still  great  race  in  their  father- 
lands, a  splendid  reinforcement  to  the  virtues  of 
Puritan  and  Knickerbocker;  while  there  have  also 
come  cross  currents  from  Virginia  and  the   South. 


22  ITS"    TO    THE    YUKON. 

The  type  you  see  upon  the  streets  is  American,  but 
among  it,  and  with  it,  is  prominently  evident  the 
Norse  blue  eyes  and  yellow7  hair  of  Scandinavia. 

St.  Paul  is  surely  a  great  city,  great  in  her  pres- 
ent, great  in  her  future.  St.  Paul  is  builded  on  sev- 
eral hills,  out  along  which  are  avenues  and  boulevards 
and  rows  of  sumptuous  private  residences,  while 
down  in  the  valleys  are  gathered  the  more  part  of 
the  big,  modern  business  blocks  and  store  houses  and 
manufacturing  establishments,  where  are  centered 
the  energies  which  direct  her  industries  and  com- 
merce. St.  Paul  is  a  rich  city,  a  solid  city.  The  wild 
boom  days  of  fifteen  and  twTenty  years  ago  are  quite 
gone  by,  the  bubble  period  has  been  safely  weath- 
ered, she  is  now  settled  down  to  conservative  al- 
though keen  and  active  business  and  trade.  She  sup- 
plies all  of  that  immense  region  lying  wTest  and  north 
of  her,  even  into  the  now  unfolding  Canadian  Far 
Nortlnvest.  The  continent  is  hers,  even  to  the  Pacific 
and  the  Arctic  Seas.  Minnesota  and  the  Dakotas  and 
Montana  have  already  poured  their  wealth  of  grains 
and  of  ores,  of  wheat  and  of  oats,  of  rye  and  of 
barley,  of  iron  and  of  copper,  of  silver  and  of  gold, 
into  her  capacious  lap,  and  now  Manitoba  and 
Alberta  and  Assiniboia  and  Saskatchewan  and 
Athabaska,  and  all  the  unfolding  regions  between 
the  Hudson  Bay  and  the  Rocky  Mountains,  the  fer- 
tile valleys  of  the  Saskatchewan  and  Peace  Rivers, 
are  to  contribute  even  yet  more  lavishly  to  her  fu- 


NORTHWEST  WHEAT  LANDS.  23 

tore  commercial  predominance  as  unrivalled  mistress 
of  the  North.  She  and  Minneapolis  will  have  this 
trade.  She  and  her  twin  sister  city  are  entitled  to 
it.  And  if  I  mistake  not  the  spirit  of  the  men  I 
have  talked  with  upon  her  streets,  in  her  shops  and 
banks  and  clubs,  she  and  Minneapolis  will  secure  of 
it  their  full  and  certain  share. 

Here  in  the  splendid  stores  of  St.  Paul  we  have 
made  the  last  few  purchases  of  the  things  we  shall 
need  for  our  going  into  the  distant  Yukon.  H.  has 
bought  a  perfectly  fitting  sweater — a  garment  that 
we  searched  for  and  ransacked  through  the  town  of 
Antwerp,  in  Belgium,  two  years  ago,  and  could  not 
find,  while  I  have  laid  in  some  woolen  garments,  so 
fit  and  warm  that  they  make  one  hanker  for  an 
Arctic  blizzard  just  for  the  joy  of  trying  them  on. 

And  we  have  been  feted  and  wined  and  dined  as 
only  mortals  may  be,  who  have  fallen  among  long- 
time and  well-tried  friends.  A  sumptuous  lunch  has 
been  given  us  at  the  Merchants'  Club,  where  old 
chums  and  classmates  of  my  Cornell  College  days 
did  make  me  almost  believe  that  it  was  but  yester- 
day that  we  went  forth  from  our  Alma  Mater's 
Halls. 

Later  in  the  day  we  have  taken  one  of  the  many 
suburban  trains  and  journeyed  down  ten  miles  to  the 
summer  country  home  of  another  old-time  friend, 
along  the  shores  of  White  Bear  Lake,  and  all  the 
afternoon  have  enjoyed  a  sail  in  the  crack  yacht  of 


24  IN   TO   THE    YUKON. 

the  fleet  that  parades  these  waters.  A  new  design  of 
boat.  Conceived  and  perfected  in  St.  Paul,  and 
which  has  this  summer  carried  havoc  and  defeat  to 
every  competing  yacht  club  of  all  the  wide  country 
of  the  western  and  northern  lakes,  and  even  caused 
perturbation  among  the  proud  salt-water  skippers  of 
the  east.  I  send  you  a  snap-shot  of  the  prize  yacht 
as  she  lies  floating  at  her  little  pier. 

And  when  we  came  back  and  landed  from  our 
voyage,  we  found  assembled  an  even  greater  com- 
pany than  we  had  yet  met,  to  again  give  us  welcome 
without  stint.  We  gathered  in  the  commodious  din- 
ing-hall  of  our  host,  a  delightful  company,  these  men 
who  once  with  me  were  boys,  and  their  cultivated 
wives!  Long  and  late  we  sat,  and  old  college  songs 
we  sang,  until  the  eastern  sky  was  already  lighten- 
ing with  the  approach  of  dawn.  Many  of  us  had  not 
met  for  nigh  twenty  years,  when  we  had  parted  to 
go  forth  to  fight  life's  battles  and  to  win  or  lose. 

Then,  in  the  second  afternoon,  yet  other  friends, 
of  yet  later  knowing,  have  taken  us  in  hand  and  have 
trollied  and  driven  us  to  see  St.  Paul's  twin  sister, 
Minneapolis.  With  her  monstrous  flouring  mills 
along  the  Mississippi,  she  is  become  the  wheat  milling 
center  of  the  world,  but  she  has  never  succeeded  in 
rivalling  St.  Paul  in  the  reach  and  volume  of  her 
jobbing  trade.  Once  bitter  enemies,  rivals  for  the 
supremacy  of  the  trade  and  commerce  of  the  North- 
west, their  borders  have  now  met,  their  streets  have 


NORTHWEST    WHEAT    LANDS.  25 

coalesced,  and  it  will  not  be  many  years  before  the 
two  will  have  fused  and  melted  into  one,  even  as 
Canada  will  one  day  inevitably  become  knitted  and 
commingled  with  the  great  Republic,  for  there  is 
room  for  but  one  nationality,  one  English-speaking 
nationality  upon  the  northern  continent  of  the  west- 
ern world. 

In  the  long  gloaming  of  the  waning  eventide  we 
were  driven  in  an  easy  victoria  behind  a  pair  of 
spanking  bays  and  threaded  our  way  among  and 
along  the  lawns  and  lakes  and  avenues  of  the  twin 
cities'  splendid  parks.  The  deciduous  trees  do  not 
here  grow  as  large  as  with  us  further  to  the  south. 
The  conifers,  the  pines  and  firs,  are  here  necessarily 
more  frequently  employed  by  the  landscape  artist  to 
perfect  his  plans,  but  the  flowers  seemed  just  as  big, 
just  as  fine  in  coloring  and  in  wealth  of  leaf. 

The  day  was  ended  with  another  elaborately  served 
dinner,  with  other  intelligent  and  cultivated  friends, 
and  then,  before  the  night  quite  fully  fell,  we  were 
driven  to  the  big  station  which  first  we  had  entered, 
and  were  bidden  a  hearty  farewell.  We  have  boarded 
the  sleeper  for  Winnipeg.  A  white  porter  now  makes 
up  our  berths,  and  tells  us  we  shall  travel  in  his  com- 
pany some  sixteen  hours,  so  long  is  now  the  journey 
to  Canada's  nearest  city  in  the  north, 


26  IN   TO  THE  YUKON. 

Winnipeg,  August  14,  1908. 

We  left  St.  Paul  in  the  Winnipeg  sleeper  on  the 
Great  Northern  Railroad  at  8:06  p.  m.  When  we 
awoke  this  morning  we  were  flying  through  the 
wheatfields  of  North  Dakota,  passing  Grand  Forks 
at  about  9  a.  m.,  and  reaching  Neche,  on  the 
Canadian  border,  at  eleven,  and  arriving  at  Win- 
nipeg at  1 :40  p.  m.,  a  longer  journey  to  the  north — 
440  miles — than  I  had  realized.  It  was  my  first  sight 
of  a  prairie — that  vast  stretch  of  wheat  country 
reaching  1,000  miles  west  of  St.  Paul,  and  as  far 
to  the  north  of  it.  In  the  States  it  was  wheat  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach  in  all  directions — ripening 
wheat,  waving  in  the  keen  wind  like  a  golden  sea, 
or  cut  and  stacked  wheat  in  innumerable  piles,  in 
countless  shocks.  A  few  miles  north  of  the  boundary 
the  wheat  land  gradually  changed  to  meadow  and 
grass  land,  with  many  red  cattle.  Huge  hay  stacks 
here  and  there — the  country  flat. 

Winnipeg  holds  about  60,000  people,  they  tell  me. 
Wooden  houses  mostly,  but  some  fine  modern  ones 
of  stone  and  brick.  Hundreds  of  new  houses  built 
and  houses  a-building.  Fine  electric  tramway  system, 
on  which  we  have  been  riding  all  the  afternoon.  Many 
paved  streets,  some  wood-paved,  but  mostly  the  native 
black  earth  of  all  this  northland.  A  vigorous,  hust- 
ling town,  with  now  a  big  boom  on,  owing  to  the 
rapid  development  of  the  far  north  wheat  lands — 
"the  Chicago  of  the  far  Northwest,"  they  call  it. 


NORTHWEST    WHEAT   LANDS.  27 

We  go  on  to-night  by  6  p.  m.  train,  and  should  reach 
Banff  in  two  nights  and  a  day.    There  we  rest  a  day. 


Banff  Springs  Hotel,  Banff,  Canada,  \ 
August  18,  1903.     / 

We  had  intended  leaving  Winnipeg  by  the  through 
train  called  the  "Imperial  Limited,"  which  crosses 
the  continent  three  times  a  week  each  way,  but  to 
do  so  we  should  have  had  to  lie  over  in  Winnipeg 
a  full  day  and  a  half  longer,  and  we  had  already 
seen  the  shell  of  the  town  in  our  first  afternoon,  so 
we  mended  our  plans,  paid  our  modest  dinner  bill 
of  fifty  cents  each  at  the  Clarendon  Hotel,  and  took 
the  ordinary  daily  through  Pacific  express  which, 
leaving  Winnipeg  at  6  p.  m..  would  yet  bring  us  to 
Banff,  even  though  it  would  take  a  half  day  longer  in 
doing  it,  earlier  than  the  Imperial  Limited  train.  A 
good  many  people  seemed  to  be  of  our  mind,  and  so 
the  railway  people  attached  an  extra  sleeper  to  the  al- 
ready crowded  train.  We  were  fixed  in  this.  A 
sumptuous  car,  finished  in  curled  maple  and  brass, 
longer,  wider,  higher  than  even  the  large  cars  run 
on  the  N.  Y.  C.  &  H.  R.  K.,  that  traverse  no  tunnels. 
These  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  cars  are  built  by  the 
railway  company,  owned  and  run  by  it.  No  "Pull- 
man conductor;"  the  porter,  be  he  white  or  black, 
runs  the  car  and  handles  the  tickets  and  the  cash. 

The  company  were  mostly  Canadians,  going  out 
to  Regina,  Calgary,  Edmonton,  etc.,  large  towns 
toward  which  Winnipeg  bears  the  same  relation  as 


28  IN    TO   THE    YUKON. 

does  Cincinnati  to  our  country  (West  Virginia),  and 
many  Australians  en  route  to  take  ship  at  Vancouver. 

For  a  long  distance  the  track  seemed  to  be  per- 
fectly straight,  and  miles  and  miles  west  of  Win- 
nipeg, the  city  still  peeped  far  distant  between 
the  rails.  We  rose  a  little,  too,  just  a  little,  but 
steadily,  constantly.  And  on  either  hand  and  before 
and  behind  spread  out  the  wonderful  flatness  of  the 
earth.  The  real  prairie  now.  Not  even  a  tree,  not  a 
bush,  not  a  hill,  just  as  smooth  as  a  floor,  like  an 
even  sea,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  and  out  beyond. 

A  good  deal  of  wheat  grows  west  of  Winnipeg, 
as  well  as  south  and  north  and  east  of  it.  We  were 
still  in  wheat  land  when  we  awoke  yesterday  morn- 
ing, though  the  now  intervening  patches  of  green 
grass  grew  larger  and  larger  until  the  grass  covered 
and  dominated  everything.  And  then  we  had  miles 
and  miles  of  a  more  rolling  country.  Here  and  there 
began  to  appear  pools  of  water,  ponds,  even  small 
lakes  and  deep  sunk  streams  bordered  with  rushes 
and  scrub  willow  and  stunted  alders. 

Every  bit  of  water  was  alive  with  wild  fowl.  Each 
pool  we  hurried  by  was  seemingly  packed  with  geese, 
brant  and  ducks.  All  the  myriads  of  the  north  land 
water  birds  seemed  to  be  here  gathering  and  resting 
preparatory  to  their  long  flight  to  the  distant  south. 
Many  plover,  snipe  and  some  herons  and  even  cranes 
I  noted  along  the  margins  of  the  pools  and  streams. 
And  this  prolific  bird  life  cared  but  little  for  the 
presence  of  man.    Our  rushing  train  did  not  frighten 


NORTHWEST   WHEAT   LANDS.  29 

thein,  none  ever  took  to  wing,  too  much  engrossed 
were  they  in  their  own  pursuits. 

Through  the  flat  wheat  land  the  farmsteads  were 
few  and  far  between,  and  the  towns  only  at  long 
intervals.  Nor  is  there  here  the  population  seen 
among  the  many  and  thrifty  towns  and  villages  of 
Minnesota  and  Dakota. 

In  the  grass  lands  we  saw  no  towns  at  all,  nor 
made  many  stops,  while  herds  of  cattle  began  to  in- 
crease in  number;  of  horses,  also,  as  we  drew  further 
and  further  west  and  north. 

Toward  evening,  through  the  long  twilight,  we 
entered  a  hill  country,  where  were  a  great  many 
cattle  and  horses,  and  some  Mexican  cowboys  round- 
ing up  the  stock  ere  nightfall. 

Here,  also,  the  wilder  life  of  the  hills  came  close 
upon  us.  Just  as  we  drew  beyond  the  prairie  a  large 
grey  wolf  had  crossed  our  way.  He  had  no  fear  of 
the  iron  horse ;  he  stood  and  watched  us  with  evident 
curiosity,  lifting  one  forepawr  as  he  gazed  upon  the 
flying  train,  not  fifty  feet  away.  When  we  were  gone 
by,  he  turned  and  trotted  leisurely  into  the  bush. 

New  buildings  with  added  frequency  met  our 
view.  Sometimes  whole  new  towns.  All  this  I  after- 
ward learned  is  largely  owing  to  the  present  Amer- 
ican immigration. 

At  dusk  we  stopped  at.  the  bustling  town  of 
Dunmore,  just  where  the  railway  crosses  the  broad 
Assiniboia  River  on  a  long  bridge.  Here  many  of 
our  fellow  sleepers  left  us,  and  several  new  passengers 


30  IX    TO   THE   YUKON. 

got  into  our  car  to  ride  through  to  Calgary,  the  larg- 
est town  in  the  Northwest  Territory — seven  or  eight 
thousand  inhabitants  —  and  where  the  Edmonton 
branch  goes  off  two  hundred  miles  into  the  north,  and 
will  soon  go  three  or  four  hundred  miles  further 
through  the  opening  wheat  country  which  the  world 
is  now  pouring  into. 

This  morning  we  were  following  the  Silver  Bow 
River,  past  a  long  lake  which  it  widens  into  in  the 
journey  of  its  waters  toward  Hudson's  Bay;  then 
we  were  among  fir-clad  foot-hills,  and  then,  quite 
suddenly,  as  the  enveloping  mist  lifted,  there  were 
revealed  upon  either  side  of  us  the  gigantic,  bare, 
rocky,  snow-capped  masses  of  the  real  Rocky  Moun- 
tain chain.  I  have  never  yet  seen  as  immense  and 
gigantic  masses  of  bare  rock,  unless  it  be  the  Cordil- 
lera of  Michoacan,  in  Mexico. 

Here  we  are  at  a  fine  modern  hotel  kept  by  the 
Canadian  Pacific  Railroad.  It  is  cool,  even  cold, 
almost.  As  cold  as  on  Lake  Superior,  54  and 
56  degrees,  and  as  in  St.  Paul  the  days  we  were 
there,  but  here  the  air  is  so  much  drier  that  one  sits 
by  the  open  window  and  does  not  feel  the  cold. 

Among  the  passengers  on  our  train  I  fell  in  with 
several  of  those  who  now  make  their  homes  in  this 
booming  land — from  Winnipeg  west  and  north,  all 
this  vast  country  is  now  on  what  is  called  a  boom — 
a  wheat-land  boom,  a  cattle  boom,  a  town  boom ! 
One,  a  vigorous  six-footer  from  Wisconsin,  a  drummer 
for  an  American  harvesting  machine,  has  put  and  is 


WHITE   BEAR   LAKE — ST.   PAUL. 


DOWN   THE   SILVER  BO  3AXI  F. 


NORTHWEST    WHEAT    LANDS.  33 

now  putting  all  the  money  he  can  raise  into  the  buy- 
ing of  these  northern  wheat  lands.  And  there  is  no 
finer  wheat  land  in  all  the  world,  he  said,  than  the 
rich,  warm  Peace  River  valley,  four  hundred  or  five 
hundred  miles  north  of  Edmonton.  A  Canadian 
drummer,  who  had  won  a  medal  fighting  in  South 
Africa,  also  told  me  much  of  the  awakening  up 
here.  The  Hudson  Bay  Company  had  for  years  kept 
secret  the  fatness  of  this  north  land,  although 
they  and  their  agents  had  (for  more  than  a  century) 
raised  great  wheat  harvests  on  their  own  hidden- 
away  farms  along  the  distant  Peace  River,  where 
their  mills  made  it  into  flour  for  their  own  use,  and 
to  feed  the  fur-trapping  Indians.  But  never  a  word 
had  they  or  their  close-mouthed  Scotch  servants  said 
about  all  the  richness  of  which  they  so  well  knew. 
But  little  by  little  had  the  news  of  these  wheat  crops 
leaked  out  into  the  world  beyond,  and  little  by  little, 
after  the  opening  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway, 
and  cession  to  Canada  of  their  exclusive  rights,  had 
the  pioneer  settlers  quietly  crept  into  the  hidden 
country.  Now  there  were  many  farmers  snugly  liv- 
ing on  their  own  lands  along  the  Peace  River  valley 
and  in  that  neighboring  region.  Every  year  there  are 
more  of  them.  They  haul  their  supplies  three  hun- 
dred miles  north  from  Edmonton,  or  buy  direct  of 
the  nearest  Hudson  Bay  Post,  Soon  the  railways  will 
be  up  among  them,  soon  the  greatest  export  of  Ca- 
nadian wheat  will  come  from  that  now  far-away 
country.     And  here  is  where  the  hustling  American 


34  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

comes  in.  The  Canadian  has  been  slow  to  "catch 
on."  The  dull  farmer  of  Ontario  has  scoffed  at 
the  notion  of  good  wheat  land  so  far  north.  He 
preferred  to  stay  at  home  and  raise  peas  and  barley. 
The  French  habitan,  too,  did  not  take  stock  in  the 
tales  of  a  land  so  far  from  church  and  kindred. 
Nor  did  the  Englishman  do  more  than  look  blandly 
incredulous  at  whatever  secret  tales  he  might  hear. 
He  would  just  inquire  of  the  office  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  where  he  always  learned  that  the 
tale  was  a  joke  out  of  the  whole  cloth.  Not  even 
the  bankers  of  now  booming  Winnipeg  would  invest 
a  dollar  in  buying  Government  land  beyond  the 
already  well-defined  wheat  limits  of  Manitoba.  It 
was  the  keen-scented  Yankee  who  caught  on.  A  group 
of  bright  men  in  St.  Paul  and  Minneapolis  heard 
in!  some  way  of  the  possibilities  of  the  far  north. 
They  quietly  sent  their  own  experienced  Minnesota 
and  Dakota  farm  land  experts  and  practical  wheat 
judges  up  into  Saskatchewan  and  Assiniboia  to  look, 
examine  and  report.  This  they  did,  and  then  the 
Americans  began  to  buy  direct  of  the  Canadian  Gov- 
ernment at  Ottawa.  Their  expert  investigators  also 
had  friends  and  neighbors  who  had  money,  who  had 
made  money  in  farming,  and  some  of  them  went  up. 
All  who  went  up  staid,  and  sent  back  word  of  having 
got  hold  of  a  good  thing.  The  first  the  world  knew, 
fifty  thousand  American  farmers  went  in  last  year, 
more  than  two  hundred  thousand  have  gone  in  this 
year,  and  the  Canadian  world  and  the  English  world 


NORTHWEST   WHEAT    LANDS.  35 

have  awakened  to  the  fact  that  the  bulk  of  the  rich 
wheat  lands  of  the  far  north  are  already  owned  by 
the  American  land  companies,  American  banks  and 
American  farmers.  In  St.  Paul  to-day  you  can  learn 
more  about  all  this  rich  far  north,  and  buy  its  best 
lands,  rather  than  in  Toronto  or  even  in  Winnipeg. 
Now  the  railroads  are  also  beginning  to  stir  them- 
selves. The  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  is  to  build 
more  north  branch  lines.  The  Grand  Trunk  Pacific 
is  to  be  built  right  through  the  Peace  River  country 
to  Port  Simpson,  and  everybody  is  astir  to  get  a 
chance  at  the  golden  future.  But  the  Americans  have 
the  cinch.  And  what  is  more,  they  do  better  and 
succeed  when  the  Canadians,  from  Quebec  or  Ontario, 
and,  above  all,  the  Englishmen,  make  rank  failures. 
The  Americans  have  been  farming  on  the  same  sort 
of  land  in  Minnesota,  in  Iowa  and  in  the  Dakotas. 
They  go  into  this  new  land  with  the  same  machinery 
and  same  methods.  They  all  do  well.  Many  of  the 
Canadians  fail,  most  of  the  English  likewise,  and  the 
prospering  American  buys  them  out.  Now,  also,  the 
Americans  are  beginning  to  find  out  that  there  is 
much  good  cattle  range  in  this  north  land.  The 
American  cattle  men  are  coming  up  with  their  herds, 
even  with  their  Mexican  cowboys. 

No  blizzards  here,  such  as  freeze  and  destroy 
in  Montana.  No  lack  of  water  here  the  year  round. 
No  drouths  like  those  of  Texas.  Nor  is  the  still,  quiet, 
steady  cold  of  these  plains  more  fatal,  not  as  much 


36  IN   TO    THE    YUKON. 

go,  as  the  more  variable  temperatures  of  the  States. 
Not  much  snow  over  these  northern  plains,  rarely 
more  than  a  foot.  The  buffalo  grass  may  be  always 
reached  through  it.  The  mercury  rarely  more  than 
fifty  below  zero,  and  so  dry  is  the  air  and  so  still  that 
no  one  minds  that  temperature. 

So  we  have  it,  that  this  entire  rich  wheat-yielding 
land  of  the  far,  far  north,  that  the  bulk  of  these 
grazing  lands,  tempered  as  the  winter  is  by  the  warm 
Pacific  climate,  which  here  climbs  over  the  rather 
low  barrier  of  the  Kockies,  are  falling  into  alert 
American  hands.  Even  the  storekeepers,  they  tell  me, 
would  rather  trade  with  the  American— he  buys  more 
freely,  buys  higher-priced  machinery  and  goods;  he 
is  tietter  pay  in  the  end.  "The  Englishman  brings 
out  money,  but  after  the  first  year  or  two  it  is  gone. ' ' 
"The  American  brings  some  and  then  keeps  making 
more."  So  my  Canadian  drummer  friend  tells  me, 
and  he  gathers  his  information  from  the  storekeepers 
in  all  these  northwest  towns  with  whom  he  deals. 
"Some  even  tell  me,"  he  said,  "that  if  it  wouldn't 
make  any  disturbance,  why  they  would  do  better  if 
all  this  country  was  part  of  the  States."  So  the 
American  is  popular  here,  and  he  is  growing  rich, 
richer  than  the  Canadian  and  Englishman,  and  in 
course  of  time,  I  take  it,  he  will  even  yet  the  more 
completely  dominate  the  land.  It  is  strange  how  the 
American  spirit  seems  to  have  an  energy  and  force 
that  tells  everywhere,  in  Canada  as  well  as  in  Mex- 
ico.    The  information  I  give  you  here  comes  to  me 


NORTHWEST    WHEAT   LANDS.  37 

from  the  intelligent  fellow-travelers  I  have  chanced 
to  meet,  and,  I  take  it,  is  probably  a  fair  statement. 
We  are  some  4,500  feet  above  the  sea,  and  the 
highest  summits  near  us  rise  to  about  10,000  or  11,000 
feet.  There  is  none  of  the  somber  blackness  of  the 
Norwegian  rocks,  nor  the  greenness  of  the  Swiss 
slopes,  while  the  contour  of  the  summits  and  ridges 
is  much  like  that  of  the  volcanic,  serrated  summits 
of  the  mountains  I  saw  in  Mexico. 


212148 


38  IN    TO   THE    YUKON. 


THIRD    LETTER, 

BANFF   TO   VANCOUVER   ACROSS   THE  ROCKIES  AND 
SELKIRKS. 

Hotel  Vancouver,  Vancouver,  B.  C,  \ 
August  19,  1903.     / 

Our  day  crossing  the  Rockies  was  delightful.  We 
left  Banff  about  2  p.  m.,  following  up  the  valley  of 
the  Silver  Bow  River  to  its  very  head.  A  deep  valley, 
shut  in  on  either  hand  by  gigantic  granite  mountains, 
rising  to  10,000  and  12,000  feet,  their  lower  slopes 
covered  with  small  fir,  aspen,  birch,  then  a  sparse 
grass,  and  lichens,  and  then  rising  up  into  the  clouds 
and  eternal  snows.  Snow  fields  everywhere,  and 
many  glaciers  quite  unexplored  and  unnamed.  The 
rise  was  so  easy,  however,  that  we  were  sur- 
prised when  we  actually  attained  the  summit  of  the 
divide,  where  a  mountain  stream  forks  and  sends  its 
waters,  part  to  Hudson's  Bay,  part  to  the  Pacific. 
But  the  descent  toward  the  west  was  precipitous. 
Since  leaving  Winnipeg,  two  days  and  nights  across 
plains  and  prairie,  and  a  night  and  day  up  the 
valley  of  the  Silver  Bow  River,  we  had  steadily  risen, 
but  so  gradually  that  we  were  almost  unconscious  of 
the  ascending  grade,  but  now  we  were  to  come  down 
the  5,000  feet  from  the  height  of  land  and  reach  the 
Pacific  in  little  more  than  a  single  day.  Not  so  sheer 
a  ride  as  down  the  Dal  of  the  Laera  River  in  Nor- 


ACROSS    THE   ROCKIES.  39 

way,  3,000  feet  in  three  hours  behind  the  ponies, 
but  yet  so  steep  that  the  iron  horse  crept  at  a  snail's 
pace,  holding  back  the  heavy  train  almost  painfully, 
and  descending  into  gorges  and  canons  and  shadowy 
valleys  until  one's  hair  nearly  stood  on  end.  How 
on  earth  they  ever  manage  to  pull  and  push  the  long 
passenger  and  short  freight  trains  up  these  grades 
for  the  east-bound  traffic,  is  a  matter  of  amazement; 
that  is,  shove  them  up  and  make  the  business  pay. 
At  once,  so  soon  as  the  divide  was  crossed,  the 
influence  of  the  warm,  moist  air  of  the  Pacific  was 
apparent.  No  longer  the  bare,  bleak,  naked  masses 
of  granite,  no  longer  the  puny  firs  and  dwarf  aspen 
and  birches,  but  instead,  the  entire  vast  slopes  of 
these  gigantic  mountain  masses  were  covered  with  a 
dense  forest.  The  tall  Douglas  firs  stood  almost 
trunk  to  trunk,  so  close  together  that  the  distant 
slopes  looked  as  though  covered  with  gigantic  cover- 
lets of  green  fur.  The  trees  seemed  all  about  of  one 
height  and  size.  And  the  slopes  were  green  right  up 
to  the  snow  field's  very  edge.  Our  way  wound  down 
the  profound  canon  of  the  Kicking  Horse  River,  some- 
times sheer  precipices  below  and  also  above  us,  the 
road  blasted  out  of  the  granite  sides,  then  we  swept 
out  into  the  beautiful  "Wapta  Valley,  green  as  emer- 
ald, the  white  snow  waters  of  the  river— not  white 
foam,  but  a  muddy  white  like  the  snow-fed  waters 
of  the  streams  of  Switzerland— roaring  and  plunging, 
and  spreading  out  into  placid  pools.  At  last  we 
emerged   through  a  gorge  and  came  into  the  great 


40  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

wide,  verdant  valley  of  the  British  Columbia,  from 
which  the  province  takes  its  name.  A  river,  even 
there  on  its  upper  reaches,  as  wide  as  the  Ohio,  but 
wild  and  turbulent,  and  muddy  white  from  the  melt- 
ing snows.  Behind  us  the  towering  granite  masses 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains — a  name  whose  meaning  I 
never  comprehended  before — their  peaks  lost  in 
clouds,  their  flanks  and  summits  buried  in  verdure. 
The  valley  of  the  Columbia  is  wide  and  fertile.  Many 
villages  and  farms  and  saw-mills  already  prospering 
along  it.  Here  and  there  were  indications  of  a  devel- 
oping mine  upon  the  mountain  slopes.  We  followed 
the  great  river  until  we  passed  through  a  narrow 
gorge  where  the  Selkirk  Mountain  range  jams  its 
rock  masses  hard  against  the  western  flanks  of  the 
Rockies  and  the  river  thrusts  itself  between,  to  begin 
its  long  journey  southward  through  Washington  and 
Oregon  to  the  Pacific;  and  then  turning  up  a  wild 
creek  called  Six  Mile,  we  began  again  to  climb  the 
second  and  last  mountain  chain  before  we  should  reach 
the  sea.  These  grades  are  very  heavy.  Too  heavy,  I 
should  say,  for  a  railroad  built  for  business  and  traffic 
and  not  subsidized  by  a  government,  as  in  practical 
effect  the  Canadian  Pacific  is.  The  pass  at  the  divide 
is  almost  as  high  as  that  at  the  source  of  the  Silver 
Bow,  and  much  more  impeded  in  winter  with  snow- 
falls and  avalanches,  which  require  many  miles  of 
snow-sheds  to  save  the  road. 

We  dined  about  8  p.  m.,  in  a  fine  large  hotel  owned 
by  the  railroad  company  at  a  station  called  "Gla- 


A  REACH  OF  THE  FRASER  RIVER. 


ACROSS   THE   ROCKIES.  43 

cier, "  for  it  is  right  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  most 
gigantic  glaciers  of  the  Selkirks,  and  many  tourists 
tarry  here  to  see  it  and  climb  upon  it;  Swiss  guides 
being  provided  by  the  railway  company  for  these 
adventures.  And  then  we  came  down  again,  all  night 
and  half  the  next  day,  following  the  valley  of  the 
Fraser  River  until  it  debouched  into  level  tidal 
reaches  a  few  miles  from  Puget  Sound. 

The  Fraser  River  is  a  magnificent  stream ;  as  great 
as  the  Columbia,  as  wild  as  New  River  of  West  Vir- 
ginia. We  stood  upon  the  platform  of  the  rear  car 
and  snapped  the  kodak  at  the  flying  gorges,  tem- 
pestuous rapids  and  cascades.  All  along,  wherever 
the  water  grew  angry  and  spume  spun,  were  Indians 
fishing  for  salmon,  sometimes  standing  alert,  intent, 
spear  in  hand  poised  and  ready,  or,  more  often, 
watching  their  nets  or  drawing  them  in.  And  every 
rocky  point  held  its  poles  for  drying  the  fish,  belong- 
ing to  some  individual  Indian  or  tribe,  safe  from  tres- 
pass or  molestation  by  immemorial  usage.  The  sands 
of  the  river  are  said  to  also  have  been  recently  dis- 
covered to  hide  many  grains  of  gold,  and  we  saw  in 
several  places  Chinamen  industriously  panning  by 
the  water-side.  Near  Vancouver  we  passed  several 
extensive  salmon  canneries,  and  their  catch  this  year 
is  said  to  be  unusually  large. 

As  we  came  nearer  to  the  sea  the  air  grew  warmer, 
the  vegetation  more  luxuriant,  the  flowers  more  pro- 
lific, and  the  Douglas  fir  more  lofty  and  imposing. 
A  single  shaft,  with  sparse,  ill-feathered  limbs,  down- 


44  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

bent  and  twisted,  these  marvelous  trees  lift  their  un- 
gainly trunks  above  every  other  living  thing  about. 
The  flowers,  too,  would  have  delighted  you.  Zinnias 
as  tall  as  dahlias,  dahlias  as  tall  as  hollyhocks,  nas- 
turtiums growing  like  grape  vines,  roses  as  big  as 
peonies,  geraniums  and  heliotropes  small  trees. 
Great  was  the  delight  of  our  trainload  of  Australians. 
They  had  never  seen  such  luxuriance  of  foliage,  such 
wealth  of  flowers,  except  under  the  care  of  a  gar- 
dener and  incessant  laying  on  of  water.  We  came 
across  with  a  car  full  of  these  our  antipodean  kin. 
Most  have  been  "home,"  to  England,  and  had  come 
across  to  Canada  to  avoid  the  frightful  heats  of  the 
voyage  by  Suez  and  the  Red  Sea.  And  they  mar- 
veled at  the  vigor  and  the  activity  of  both  Canada 
and  the  States.  Some  had  lingered  at  the  fine  hotels 
up  in  the  mountains  now  maintained  by  the  Canadian 
Pacific  Railroad.  All  were  sorry  to  go  back  to  the 
heats  of  the  Australian  continent. 

The  building  and  maintaining  of  this  railway  has 
been  accomplished  by  the  giving  of  millions  of  dollars 
in  hard  cash,  and  millions  of  acres  in  land  grants,  to 
the  railway  company  by  the  government  of  the  Do- 
minion. Fortunes  were  made  and  pocketed  by  the 
promoters  and  builders,  and  the  Canadian  people 
now  hold  the  bag— but  although  as  a  mere  investment 
it  can  never  pay,  yet  as  a  national  enterprise  it  has 
made  a  Canadian  Dominion  possible.  It  owns  its 
terminals  on  the  Atlantic  and  on  the  Pacific.  It 
owns  its  own  telegraph  i*v?s,  its  own  cars,  sleeping- 


BIG  DOUGLAS  FIR — VANCOUVER  PARK. 


ACROSS   THE   ROCKIES.  47 

cars,  and  rolling  stock;  it  owns  and  runs  ten,  a 
dozen,  a  score  of  fine  hotels;  it  is  a  vast  land-owner. 
Its  stock  can  never  be  bought  up  and  owned  out  of 
Canadian  hands.  A  Morgan  or  a  Gould  can  never 
seize  it,  manipulate  it,  or  wreck  it.  It  is  a  good  thing 
for  Canada  to  have  it  so.  It  is  a  good  thing  for  the 
people  of  the  United  States  that  it  is  so. 

The  Canadian  Rockies  are  the  most  beautiful  and 
picturesque  of  any  section  of  the  mountain  chain 
from  Mexico  north.  The  air  is  cooler  in  the  far 
northern  latitude,  keener,  more  bracing,  and  the 
hustling  American  has  begun  to  find  this  out.  The 
great  hotels  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  are  already  best 
patronized  by  the  American  visitor,  and  this  year  the 
sun-baked  Californians  have  come  up  in  swarms  and 
promise  another  year  even  greater  numbers.  And  the 
Canadian  Pacific  Railroad  welcomes  them  all— all 
who  can  pay.  At  Banff,  too,  were  the  advance  guard 
of  the  English  Colony  from  China,  brought  over  from 
Shanghai  by  the  sumptuous  steamships  of  the  Ca- 
nadian Pacific  Railway,  taken  to  and  kept  at  their 
great  hotels,  and  carried  home  again,  at  so  low  a 
round-trip  rate  that  these  Rocky  Mountain  resorts 
promise  to  become  the  summering-place  of  the  Orien- 
tal Englishmen  as  well  as  Australian  and  Californian ! 
How  these  things  bring  the  world  together! 

Our  journey  from  Kanawha,  across  Ohio,  from 
Cleveland  through  the  Great  Lakes,  across  the  wheat- 
fields  of  Minnesota  and  Dakota  and  Manitoba,  and 
over  the  wonderful  prairies  and  plains  of  the  opening 


48  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

far  Northwest,  has  had  a  fit  ending  in  the  last  few 
days  climbing  and  plunging  over  and  down  the  wild- 
est, most  picturesque,  most  stupendous  valleys  and 
passes  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  and  Selkirk  Mountain 
ranges.  How  vast  and  varied  and  splendid  is  the 
continent  we  live  on,  and  which  one  of  these  days 
the  people  of  the  United  States  will  inevitably  wholly 
possess ! 

And  now  the  wonders  of  these  Pacific  slopes  and 
waters!  All  the  afternoon  we  have  been  wandering 
through  Vancouver's  superb  Natural  Park,  among  its 
gigantic  trees,  and  gazing  westward  over  and  across 
the  waters  of  Puget  Sound,  the  most  mighty  fjord  of 
the  Pacific  seas,  the  most  capacious  land-locked  har- 
bor of  the  world.  I  must  not  say  more  about  this 
now.  I  have  not  yet  seen  enough.  I  am  only  begin- 
ning dimly  to  comprehend  what  is  the  future  power 
of  our  race  and  people  in  the  development  of  this 
side  of  the  earth. 

VICTORIA   A  SLEEPY  ENGLISH   TOWN. 

The  Driard  Hotel,  Victoria,  B.  C.,\ 
August  21,  1903.     J 

We  came  over  here  yesterday,  leaving  Vancouver 
by  a  fine  new  1,800-ton  steamer  "Princess  Victoria," 
and  making  the  voyage  in  four  hours, — all  the  way 
in  and  out  among  the  islands  and  straits  and  inlets. 
The  shores  of  the  mainland  high,  lofty; — the  moun- 
tain summits  rising  right  up  till  snow-capped,  six  or 
seven  thousand  feet  in  'the  air,  their  flanks  green  with 


VICTORIA,    B.    C. — THE   HARBOR. 


ACROSS    THE   ROCKIES.  51 

the  dense  forests  of  fir  that  here  everywhere  abound. 
The  islands  all  fir-clad,  the  trees  often  leaning  out 
over  the  deep  blue  waters.  Many  fishing-boats  were 
hovering  about  the  points  and  shoals  below  the  mouth 
of  the  Fraser  River,  awaiting  the  autumnal  rush  of 
salmon  into  the  death-traps  of  that  stream.  I  hope 
to  see  one  of  these  salmon  stampedes — they  often 
pushing  each  other  high  and  dry  on  the  shores  in 
their  mad  eagerness  to  go  on. 

Tuesday  we  reached  Vancouver.  Wednesday  we 
consumed  seeing  the  lusty  little  city. 

Yesterday  we  spent  the  morning  in  picking  up  the 
few  extra  things  needed  for  the  Yukon — among 
others  a  bottle  of  tar  and  carbolic — a  mixture  to  rub 
on  to  offend  the  yet  active  mosquito. 

Vancouver  is  a  city  of  some  30,000  people,  full  of 
solid  buildings,  asphalted  streets,  electric  car  lines, 
bustle  and  activity.  Much  of  the  outfitting  for  the 
Canadian  Yukon  is  done  there,  though  Seattle  gets 
the  bulk  of  even  this  trade. 

To-day  we  are  in  Victoria,  a  town  of  twelve  or 
fifteen  thousand,  a  fine  harbor,  and  near  it  the  British 
naval  and  military  station  of  Esquimault,  the  seat  of 
its  North  Pacific  war  power.  The  town  is  sleepy,  the 
buildings  low  and  solid,  the  air  of  the  whole  place 
very  English.  The  capitol  building  is  an  imposing 
structure  of  granite,  surmounted  by  a  successful 
dome. 


52  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 


FOURTH    LETTER. 

VANCOUVER    AND    SKAGWAY  ;   FJORDS    AND    FORESTS. 

First  and  Second  Day  Out,  \ 
August  23,   1903.      / 

We  arrived  in  Vancouver  by  the  steamer 
"Charmer"  from  Victoria  about  ten  o'clock  a.  m. — 
two  hours  late— a  small  boat,  packed  with  passengers. 
We  could  not  get  a  state-room  to  ourselves,  so  were 
glad  of  berths,  while  many  people  lay  on  mattresses 
in  the  cabin  and  many  sat  up.  Tourist  travel  sur- 
prises the  slow-going  Canadian,  and  he  does  not  catch 
up  with  it. 

We  went  to  the  Hotel  Vancouver,  where  we  had 
been  staying,  and  there  breakfasted. 

Our  boat,  "City  of  Seattle,"  is  roomy  and  com- 
fortable. We  have  a  large  upper  state-room  on  the 
starboard  side,  plenty  of  fresh  air  and  sunlight.  It 
is  loaded  down  with  an  immense  cargo  of  miscel- 
laneous freight,  from  piles  of  boxes  of  Iowa  butter 
and  fresh  eggs,  to  sheep  and  live  stock,  chickens  and 
pigs,  vegetables  and  canned  goods,  most  of  it  billed 
to  Dawson  and  even  to  points  below.  The  Yukon 
has  been  so  low  this  year — less  snow  than  usual  fall- 
ing last  winter — that  the  bulk  of  the  freight  "going 
in"  has  had  to  be  shipped  via  these  Skagway  boats 
and  the  White  Pass  Railway,  despite  the  exorbitant 
freight  rates  they  are  charging  for  everything. 


LEAVING  VANCOUVER. 


VANCOUVER   AND    SKAGWAY.  55 

The  travellers  are  of  two  sorts.  A  good  many  mak- 
ing the  round  trip  from  Seattle  to  Skagway,  and  the 
Yukoner  ' '  going  in ' '  for  the  winter.  The  former  are 
not  of  much  concern  to  us,  but  among  the  latter  I 
have  found  a  number  of  interesting  acquaintances. 
One,  a  man  who  hunts  for  a  business,  and  is  full  of 
forest  lore  and  hunting  tales.  He  is  also  something 
of  a  naturalist  and  taxidermist,  and  I  have  been 
showing  him  our  volumes  of  the  report  of  the  Harri- 
man  Expedition,  to  his  delight.  He  has  also  explored 
along  the  Kamtschatka  coasts  of  Siberia,  and  de- 
scribes it  as  a  land  stocked  with  salmon  and  fur  ani- 
mals. He  says,  too,  that  I  have  done  right  to  bring 
along  my  gun,  for  there  are  lots  of  ptarmigan  as  well 
as  mountain  sheep  and  goats  in  the  Yukon  Valley, 
and  caribou  and  moose  are  also  plentiful. 

Another  man  has  spent  a  year  or  more  on  the 
Yukon — our  chief  engineer — and  thinks  we  will  have 
no  difficulty  in  getting  a  boat  down  from  Dawson,  and 
the  scenery  he  says  is  grand.  Another  is  a  lumber- 
man of  Wrangel— from  Pennsylvania— and  tells 
me  they  have  some  fine  timber  there,  though  most  of 
that  of  these  far  northern  latitudes  is  too  small  to  now 
profitably  compete  with  the  big  logs  of  Washington. 

Our  vis-a-vis  at  table  is  going  up  to  the  Porcupine 
Placer  district  to  try  his  luck  with  finding  gold, 
and  several  men  are  going  into  Atlin— whither  we  are 
bound— to  find  work  at  big  pay. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  company  is  buoyant  and 


56  IN    TO   THE    YUKON. 

hopeful,  even  the  women  have  a  dash  of  prosperity 
about  them— gold  chains  and  diamonds— of  which 
there  are  not  a  few. 

From  all  I  can  pick  up,  an  immense  trade  is  al- 
ready developed  with  Alaska  and  is  still  growing  with 
bounds.  The  United  States  Government  statisticians 
give  thirty-seven  millions  as  the  figure  for  the  trade 
of  the  past  year.  Already  three  or  four  lines  of  steam- 
ers ply  between  Skagway  alone  and  Puget  Sound 
ports,  and  several  more  run  to  St.  Michaels  and  Nome. 

The  sail  from  Vancouver  is  most  delightful.  You 
come  out  of  a  narrow  channel  through  which  the 
tides  foam  and  churn,  and  then  turn  north  through 
the  "Gulf  of  Georgia,"  twenty  or  thirty  miles  wide. 
Vancouver  Island  stretches  for  three  hundred  miles 
along  the  west,  fir-clad,  backboned  by  a  chain  of 
mountains  rising  up  into  the  snows.  On  the  east  a 
coast  indented  with  multitudinous  bays  and  deep 
channels,  sharp  promontories  and  islands;  the  for- 
est coming  to  the  water's  edge,  the  mountains  rising 
sharply  six  and  seven  thousand  feet  into  the  snows 
and  clouds,  as  lofty  as  the  fjelde  of  Norway,  but  not 
so  bare  and  naked,  the  dense,  deep  green  fir  forests 
growing  from  water  to  snow  line. 

We  were  crossing  Queen  Charlotte  Sound  when  we 
awoke  this  morning,  and  all  day  long  have  been 
threading  our  way  among  islands,  through  narrow 
channels,  across  seemingly  shut-in  lakes,  ten  and 
twelve  miles  wide,  and  then  no  wider  than  the  Ka- 
nawha River  or  evon  narrower.    As  we  come  north  the 


AWAITING  CARGO — VANCOUVER,   B.   C. 


VANCOUVER   AND    SKAGWAY.  59 

mountains  grow  higher  and  come  closer  to  the  water 
we  sail  upon,  and  there  is  more  snow  on  their  sum- 
mits. 

You  might  imagine  yourself  with  Henrik  Hudson 
on  his  first  voyage,  when  the  Hudson  valley  was  cov- 
ered with  primeval  forests. 

Last  evening  we  saw  a  number  of  humpbacked 
whales,  and  to-day  more.  This  morning  saw  my  first 
sea  lions  and  also  fur  and  hair  seals.  To-morrow, 
they  say,  we  shall  see  yet  more.  Only  gulls,  a  few 
terns  and  ducks  to-day.     No  larger  birds  as  yet. 

Monday,  August  24,  1903. 

The  greyness  of  yesterday  is  vanished.  The  sky 
is  cloudless,  the  atmosphere  translucent.  The  moun- 
tains are  more  lofty,  the  snow  patches  grown  into 
wide  fields,  and  the  air  has  taken  on  a  certain  added 
keenness,  telling  of  distant  snow  and  ice.  To-morrow 
we  shall  see  more  snow  and  even  glaciers.  All  day  we 
have  been  going  from  one  broad  sound  or  channel 
through  narrow  straits  into  others  as  broad.  We 
crossed  Dixon's  Channel  at  breakfast-time,  through 
which  the  commerce  of  the  Orient  will  come  to 
Port  Simpson,  the  Canadians  hope,  when  the  Grand 
Trunk  Pacific  shall  have  been  built. 

About  noon  we  came  around  a  wooded  island  and 
made  our  first  port  of  Ketchikan,  where  there  are  sal- 
mon canneries,  and  hard  by  quartz  mines  yielding 
gold,  and  saloons  and  stores.  Here  we  had  our  first 
view  of  near-by  totem  poles,  and  our  first  sight  of  the 


60  IN    TO   THE    YUKON. 

shoals  of  salmon  that  make  alive  these  waters.  From 
a  foot-bridge  crossing  a  little  creek  that  debouched 
near  our  steamer  wharf,  we  looked  down  into  the 
clear  water  and  saw  it  fairly  swarming  with  salmon, 
fish  from  ten  to  fifteen  pounds,  "small  ones,"  they 
said.  But  the  waters  were  choked  with  them.  Dip- 
ping a  net  down,  you  might  haul  up  a  wagon  load  as 
easily  as  one.  Yet  no  one  was  catching  them.  So 
plentiful  are  the  fish  that  no  one  wants  to  eat  salmon 
except  as  a  last  resort— "food  fit  only  for  dogs,"  they 
say,  and  the  distant  tenderfeet  whom  the  canneries 
supply.  And  these  swarming  fish  below  us  shoved 
each  other  upon  the  shallow  shore  continually,  when 
there  would  be  a  great  splashing  to  get  back. 

From  Ketchikan  we  have  come  out  into  the  great 
Clarence  Strait,  with  Belim  and  Ernest  Sounds 
stretching  away  into  the  snow-covered  mountains  to- 
ward the  east.  The  strait  is  as  wide  as  the  Hudson 
at  the  Palisades,  the  shores  fir  clad,  the  mountains 
six  to  seven  thousand  feet,  up  into  clouds  and  snow. 
The  water  to-day  is  like  a  mirror,  and  many  por- 
poises are  playing  about.  I  have  just  seen  three  big 
blue  herons,  and  awhile  ago  we  passed  a  loon.  Last 
night  just  at  dusk,  we  saw  several  flocks  of  snipe  or 
plover,  small,  brown,  swift  in  flight,  close  above  the 
water. 

We  have  just  looked  upon  the  most  superb  pano- 
rama we  have  yet  beheld.  The  last  four  hours  the 
mountains  both  east  and  west  of  us  have  come  closer 
to  the  shores,  and  risen  higher,  the  fir  mantle  envel- 


TOTEM  POLES  AT  KETCHIKAN. 


r. 
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-VANCOUVER  AND  SKAGWAY.  65 

oping  them  has  grown  a  darker  green,  larger  timber 
than  for  the  last  few  hundred  miles,  and  then  we 
came  round  a  bend  in  our  great  strait— about  six 
to  ten  miles  wide — forty  or  fifty  miles  long — and  there 
in  front  of  us,  bounding  the  horizon  on  the  north, 
stretched  an  immense  mass  of  jagged,  serrated  moun- 
tain chain,  glittering  like  silver  in  the  slanting  sun 
rays.  Not  mere  snow  patches,  not  mere  fields  of  snow, 
but  vast  "fjellen"  of  snow,  snow  hiding  all  but  the 
most  ragged  rock  peaks,  and  even  sometimes  envelop- 
ing these.  Valleys  all  snow-filled  and  from  which  de- 
scend mighty  glaciers.  Below  the  miles  of  snow  lay 
the  deep  green  forests  of  the  lesser  mountain  sum- 
mits and  sloping  flanks,  and  then  the  dark  blue  waters 
of  the  giant  fjord,  dotted  with  many  fir-clad  islands. 
We  agree  that  we  have  seen  nothing  in  our  lives  so 
sublimely  beautiful.  Never  yet  nature  on  so  stu- 
pendous a  scale. 

The  quiet  waters  of  the  last  two  days  are  now  alive 
with  gulls  and  ducks  and  grebes  and  divers,  many 
loons.  More  bird  life  than  we  have  yet  seen.  Just 
as  is  told  by  the  Harriman  naturalist.  Only  at  Wrang- 
el  does  the  real  bird  life  of  the  north  begin.  Curv- 
ing around  another  wooded  promontory,  we  beheld 
the  town  of  Wrangel,  at  Fort  Wrangel,  on  Wrangel 
Island,  ten  miles  away,  nestling  at  the  mouth  of  a 
little  valley,  below  the  firs  and  snow  summits  behind. 
We  are  now  tied  up  to  the  pier  at  this  port,  and  shall 
lie  here  till  2  a.  m.,  when  flood  tide  will  allow  us  to 
continue  the  voyage,  and  at  daylight  pass  through  the 


66  IN    TO    THE   YUKON. 

narrowest  and  most  hazardous  strait  of  the  trip.  We 
mean  to  be  waked  at  four  o'clock  so  as  to  see  the 
pass. 

In  the  village,  which  claims  to  be  the  second  town 
in  Alaska,  we  have  walked  about  and  seen  some  of  the 
totem  poles  which  stand  before  many  of  the  Indian 
cabins.     Grotesque  things,  surely. 

It  is  now  near  nine  o'clock  and  yet  the  lingering 
twilight  permits  one  to  read.  At  Dawson,  they  tell 
me,  there  is  in  June  no  night,  and  baseball  matches 
are  played  at  10  p.  m. 

August  25,  1908. 
We  did  not  leave  Wrangel  till  2  a.  m.,  lying  there 
waiting  for  the  flood  of  the  tide.  We  were  to  pass 
through  the  very  tortuous,  narrow  and  difficult  straits 
and  passages  between  Wrangel  Bay  and  Frederick 
Sound,  through  which  the  tides  rush  with  terrific 
fury— the  tides  rise  twenty  or  thirty  feet  along  these 
shores— and  the  ship  would  only  venture  at  flood  tide 
and  after  dawn.  In  order  to  see  these  picturesque 
passages,  I  climbed  out  between  three  and  four  o  'clock 
this  morning,  wrapped  in  a  blanket  shawl  above  my 
overcoat,  and  stood  in  the  ice-chilled  air  while  we 
threaded  slowly  our  dangerous  way.  Along  sheer 
mountain-sides,  between  low  wooded  islands  (all  fir), 
a  channel  carefully  marked  with  many  buoys  and 
white  beacons,  with  many  sharp  turns,  finally  enter- 
ing the  great  Frederick  Sound,  where  many  whales 
were  blowing,  and  we  saw  our  first  real  icebergs — 


APPROACHING  FORT  WRANGEL. 


THE    PIER — FORT    WRAXGEL. 


VANCOUVER   AND   SKAGWAY.  69 

masses  of  ice,  blue  and  green,  translucent,  with  deep, 
clear  coloring. 

All  day  we  have  sailed  up  this  great  land-locked 
sheet  of  blue  water,  the  icebergs  and  floes  increasing 
in  number  as  we  approached  Taku  Inlet,  from  whose 
great  live  glaciers  they  are  incessantly  shed  off. 

4  p.  m. — We  have  landed  at  the  Treadwell  Mines 
on  Douglas  Island,  where  the  largest  stamp  mill  in 
the  world  crushes  a  low  grade  quartz  night  and  day 
the  year  around,  and  where  is  gathered  a  mining 
population  of  several  thousand.  Then  we  crossed  the 
fjord  to  the  bustling  port  of  Juneau,  the  would-be 
capital  of  Alaska,  the  rival  of  Sitka.  A  curious  little 
town  of  wooden  buildings,  wooden  streets,  wooden 
sidewalks,  nestling  under  a  mighty  snow-capped 
mountain,  and,  like  those  other  towns,  largely  built 
on  piles,  on  account  of  the  tides. 

Now  we  are  off  for  Skagway,  a  twelve  hours'  run 
with  our  thirteen-knot  speed. 

To-day  we  have  fallen  in  with  two  more  fellow-trav- 
elers. One  a  young  fellow  named  Baldwin,  attached 
to  the  U.  S.  Fish  Commission,  who  tells  me  much 
about  the  fishing  on  these  coasts,  and  the  efforts  now 
being  made  to  stay  the  indiscriminate  slaughter.  An- 
other, a  grave-faced,  sturdy  man  from  Maine  who  is 
panning  free  gold  near  Circle  City,  and  has  endured 
much  of  hardship  and  suffering.  He  hopes  to  win 
enough  this  winter  and  coming  summer  from  his 
claim  to  go  back  to  California  and  make  a  home  for 
his  old  mother  who  waits  for  him  there. 


70  IN   TO   THE    YUKON. 

Skagway,  Alaska,  Wednesday,  August  25. 

Here  we  are,  safe  and  sound  after  a  voyage  due 
north  four  days  and  four  nights,  more  than  1,500 
miles— I  do  not  know  just  how  far.  We  came  out 
from  Juneau  last  night  in  a  nasty  rain,  mist  (snow- 
rain  almost)  and  wind  driving  against  the  rushing 
tides.  Coming  around  Douglas  Island  in  the  teeth 
of  the  gale,  we  passed  over  the  very  spot  where  a  year 
or  two  ago  the  ill-fated  S.  S.  "Islander"  struck  a 
sunken  iceberg,  and  went  down  into  the  profound 
depths  with  all  on  board.  As  I  heard  the  moan 
of  the  winds,  the  rain  splash  on  our  cabin  window, 
and  hearkened  to  the  roar  of  the  whirling  tides  against 
whose  currents  we  were  entering  the  great  Lynn  Ca- 
nal— fjord  we  should  say — ninety  miles  or  more  long 
— ten  to  fifteen  miles  wide — I  could  not  help  thinking 
of  the  innumerable  frail  and  lesser  boats  that  dared 
these  dangerous  waters  in  the  first  mad  rush  to  the 
Klondike  but  a  few  short  years  ago.  In  the  darkness 
we  have  passed  many  fine  glaciers,  and  along  the  bases 
of  immense  snow  and  ice  crested  mountains,  which 
we  are  sorrry  not  to  have  seen,  but  so  much  is  now 
before  us  that  our  minds  are  already  bent  toward  the 
great  Yukon. 

We  are  tied  to  an  immense  pier,  and  mechanical 
lifters  seem  to  be  dragging  out  the  very  entrails  of 
the  ship.  Across  the  line  of  the  warehouses  I  see  the 
trucks  of  the  railway,  the  hackmen  are  crying  out 
their  hotels.  "This  way,  free  'bus  to  the  Fifth  Ave- 
nue Hotel." 


THE   PIER.    SKAGWAY. 


LYXX    CANAL   FROM   THE    SUMMIT    OF 
WHTTE  PASS. 


LOOKING  DOWN   WHITE  PASS 


THE   SUMMIT — WHITE   PASS. 


CARIBOU    CROSSING    AND   ATLIN.  10 


FIFTH  LETTER. 

SKAGWAY,    CARIBOU    CROSSING*  AND    ATLIN. 

Atlin,  British  Columbia,  August  29,  1903. 

Here  we  are  at  the  mining  camp  of  Atlin,  on  At- 
lin Lake.  We  left  Skagway  the  same  morning  we' 
arrived.  Our  boat,  the  "City  of  Seattle,"  came  in 
early  Wednesday  morning,  and  long  before  we  got 
up  we  heard  them  discharging  cargo,  all  hands  at 
work.  The  day  was  cloudy,  cold,  and  icy  winds 
swept  down  from  the  glaciers.  It  seemed  November. 
The  little  town  is  built  on  a  low  sand  tongue  of  de- 
tritus carried  down  from  the  glaciers  by  the  snow 
rivers,  the  river  Skagway  here  pouring  out  a  flood  of 
muddy  white  water  like  the  Swiss  streams. 

The  railway  is  a  narrow,  three-foot  gauge,  and  the 
cars  are  low  but  roomy.  Our  train  consisted  of  nine 
freight  cars,  a  baggage,  two  passenger  cars  and  three 
locomotives,  one  in  front  and  two  in  the  middle.  The 
famous  ride  was  all  that  has  been  said  of  it.  First, 
a  gradual  ascent  up  the  deep  valley  of  the  Skagway, 
then  steep  climbing  and  many  doubles  and  winds  up 
through  the  canon  to  the  summit,  twenty  miles  away, 
and  3,200  feet  above  the  sea.  In  many  places  the 
road-bed  is  blasted  out  of  the  granite  rock,  sheer 
precipices  above  and  below,  a  most  costly  piece  of 
work,  and  ever  down  below  winds  the  difficult,  dan- 
gerous trail,  over  which  fifty  to  one  hundred  thou- 


*  Carilxm  Crossing  now  called  Careross. 


76'  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

sand  men  and  women  footed  it  in  the  winters  of  1897- 
1898,  in  the  strange,  mad  world-rush  to  the  fabulous 
gold  fields  of  the  interior.  How  they  got  up  and 
through  at  all  is  the  wonder;  yet  men  tell  me  that 
men,  pack-laden,  footsore,  determined,  were  so  closely 
massed  along  the  trail  that  it  was  one  continuous  line 
from  Skagway  to  summit  and  beyond,  for  months  at 
a  time.  The  various  views  from  our  car  were  mag- 
nificent and  even  appalling;  sometimes  we  seemed 
to  hang  in  mid-air  as  we  crawled  upward.  As  we 
approached  the  summit  we  came  among  snow  fields 
and  near  many  glaciers,  and  then  passed  through 
long  snow-sheds  over  which  the  avalanches  often 
slip  and  thunder  into  the  abysses  below. 

Near  the  divide  is  the  international  boundary  line, 
and  the  customs  station  for  Alaska  and  the  Yukon 
Territory  of  Canada,  and  where  the  red-coated  Can- 
adian mounted  police  come  first  in  evidence.  Here 
our  bags  were  examined  by  the  customs.  Then  we 
began  a  gradual  descent  into  wide,  open,  flat  valleys, 
over  bare  granite  rock  masses  and  through  a  stunted 
fir  wilderness  into  the  basin  of  the  Yukon,  2,600 
miles  from  the  Behring  Sea  at  St.  Michaels.  Flocks 
of  ptarmigan  flew  up  as  the  train  rolled  down,  and  a 
few  eagles  soared  high  above  the  snow  summits. 

Our  first  stop  was  at  a  railway  eating-house  near 
the  head  of  Lake  Bennett,  a  sheet  of  light  green 
water,  two  to  ten  miles  wide  and  over  thirty  miles 
long,  all  shut  in  by  gigantic  granite  mountains  whose 
summits  were  covered  with  glittering  snow.    The  rail- 


RAIT/WAY  TRAIN — SKAGWAY. 


THE  INTERNATIONAL  BOUNDARY. 


CARIBOU  CROSSING. 


EARLY  SEPTEMBER  SXOW,   CARIBOU   CROSSING. 


CARIBOU    CROSSING   AND   ATLIN.  81 

way  skirts  the  water  for  the  entire  distance  until  it 
crosses  at  a  bridge  over  a  swift  current  where  Lake 
Bennett  flows  into  Lake  Marsh,  and  where  is  the  sta- 
tion of  Caribou. 

Here  we  were  put  off,  and  here  we  would,  two 
days  later,  take  the  bi-weekly  steamer  for  Atlin,  on 
Atlin  Lake,  where  we  now  are,  and  here  the  railway 
leaves  the  lakes  and  takes  a  short  cut  across  a  low 
divide  to  White  Horse  Rapids,  where  begins  the 
steamboat  navigation  on  the  Yukon  River. 

Caribou  is  a  collection  of  cabins  and  tents,  and 
is  the  first  settlement  where,  they  say,  will  some  day 
be  a  city. 

It  was  on  Lake  Bennett  that  the  weary  pilgrims 
used  to  camp  to  build  their  boats  and  rafts  and  be- 
gin their  long  water  journey  of  five  hundred  miles 
to  Dawson  and  the  golden  Klondike. 

Our  hotel  we  found  surprisingly  neat  and  clean; 
owned  and  kept  by  a  famous  Indian,  "Dawson  Char- 
lie," who  was  one  of  the  discoverers  of  the  gold  of 
Bonanza  Creek  in  the  Klondike,  and  who  had  the 
sense  to  himself  stake  out  several  claims,  the  gold 
from  which  has  made  him  now  a  magnate  worth  sev- 
eral hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  who  lives  and  en- 
tertains like  a  white  man.  He  housed  us  in  a  neat, 
comfortable  room,  iron  bedstead,  wire  mattress,  car- 
peted floor.  He  fed  us  at  fifty  cents  a  meal  as  well, 
as  abundantly  as  in  West  Virginia,  and  only  his 
Indian  daughter,  who  waited  on  us,  dressed  neatly 
and    fashionably,   with   big   diamonds   in   her  ears, 


82  IN  TO  THE  YUKON. 

made  us  realize  that  we  were  not  in  our  own  land. 
Here  we  have  spent  two  delightful  days.  The  air  is 
as  wonderfully  clear  as  on  the  table-lands  of  Mexico, 
full  of  ozone,  but  cold  in  the  shadow  even  in  midday, 
though  the  sun  is  warm. 

On  the  ship  we  met  a  delightful  naturalist, 
Mr.  Baldwin,  of  New  Haven,  artist  of  the  U.  S. 
Fish  Commission,  and  who  came  with  us  to  try  and 
catch  some  grayling,  in  order  to  make  drawings  for 
the  Commission,  and  for  two  days  we  have  been  out 
in  the  woods,  he  with  my  rod,  H with  your  but- 
terfly net,  and  I  with  my  gun.  He  caught  his  gray- 
ling, several  of  them.     I  shot  several  mallard  ducks, 

but  H caught  no  butterflies,  nor  saw  one.     It 

was  too  late  in  the  season  for  that. 

On  the  way  up  we  fell  in  with  a  very  intelligent 
Swede,   whose   partner  in  the   Klondike   is  a   Dane, 

and  who,  when  he  learned  H 's  nationality,  and 

she  had  talked  Danish  with  him,  was  all  courtesy 
and  friendliness.  He  had  come  in  with  the  "mush- 
ers"  (corruption  of  the  French  marche),  as  the  early 
foot-farers  are  called,  and  had  succeeded.  When  we 
get  to  Dawson  he  will  welcome  us. 

At  Caribou  we  also  made  acquaintance  with  the 
Canadian  customs  officer,  Mr.  John  Turnure,  a  fine 
type  of  Canadian  official,  big,  bluff,  yet  courteous, 
who  at  first  was  going  to  tax  all  my  cartridges  and 
kodak  films,  notwithstanding  I  had  passed  the  cus- 
toms at  Winnipeg  and  had  come  from  Vancouver 
direct,  but  who,  upon  explanation,  relented,  and  after 


A  VISTA  ON  LAKE  MARSH. 


WOODLAND   ALONG   LAKE  MARSH. 


ON   THE   TRATL   AT   CARIBOU. 


VIEW  XEAR  CARIBOU  CROSSING. 


•  ...KM  Jjf 


■       ■■-  '        .-      '.<    :  ■:       v  :  .  •::     v-     '.  .;      ._:., 
--    :     > ; 


■ 


88  IN   TO   THE    YUKON. 

gold  hunter  of  Atlin  and  a  member  of  the  British 
Columbia  Parliament. 

We  first  came  slowly  through  a  well-marked  track 
on  a  little  lake,  Lake  Marsh,  for  about  ten  miles, 
then  through  a  short  river,  and  then  out  into 
Lake  Taggish,  a  sheet  of  water  larger  than 
Lake  Bennett,  and  one  arm  of  which  is  famous 
for  its  desperate  winds  from  the  glaciers — the 
"hurricane"  arm — another  arm  of  which  heads  to- 
ward the  "White  Horse  Rapids,  and  a  third  arm, 
"The  Taku  Arm,"  which  extends  southerly  to- 
ward Lake  Atlin,  a  lake  more  than  one  hundred 
miles  in  length,  which  empties  into  it  through  a 
short,  swift,  turbulent  river.  This  southerly  portion 
of  the  lake  is  eight  or  ten  miles  wide  and  we  were 
all  night  steaming  on  it  to  Taku,  where  we  landed 
this  morning — a  distance  of  forty  or  fifty  miles — when, 
taking  a  little,  short,  two-mile  railway,  we  were  pulled 
over  to  Atlin  Lake,  a  yet  bigger  body  of  water. 
There  embarking  on  another  steamboat,  we  were  fer- 
ried ten  miles  across  to  Atlin,  a  town  with  a  court- 
house, several  churches,  a  little  hospital,  a  newspa- 
per, a  bank,  a  dozen  hotels,  a  multitude  of  restau- 
rants, bicycles,  numerous  livery  stables,  and  which 
is  the  center  of  a  gold-mining  region  from  which 
already  several  millions  of  dollars  have  been  taken 
since  the  first  pay  dirt  was  found  in  1898.  We 
dined  at  a  restaurant  where  a  colored  French  cook 
presides,  and  you  may  have  any  delicacy  New  York 
could  afford.    At  the  bars  men  preside  with  diamonds 


THE   TAKU   RIVER. 


LAKE  ATLIN. 


DOGS — ATLIN. 


CARIBOU    CROSSING   AND   ATLIN.  93 

the  size  of  hickory  nuts  in  their  shirts,  drinks  air 
twenty-five  cents  each  and  cigars  the  same.  The  ho- 
tels are  full  of  keen-faced  men;  well-gowned  and 
refined  women  are  to  be  seen  on  the  streets;  the  baby 
carriages  are  pulled  by  great  big  dogs,  and  even 
the  water  carts  and  delivery  wagons  are  hauled  by 
teams  of  eight  and  ten  dogs — Newfoundland  or  wolf- 
ish Esquimaux. 

"The  Camp,"  or  city,  is  now  in  the  midst  of  a 
boom,  and  this  morning  we  were  shown  several  buck- 
ets of  gold  nuggets  just  brought  in  last  night  from  a 
recent  "clean  up." 

When  in  the  midst  of  Lake  Taggish,  yesterday 
afternoon,  we  were  hailed  by  a  naphtha  launch  of  the 
Mounted  Police,  and,  on  our  lying  to,  three  gentlemen 
climbed  in.  One  face  seemed  in  some  way  familiar 
to  me,  and  when  I  presently  heard  some  one  call  him 
Mr.  Sutton  I  recognized  one  of  my  old  Port  Hope 
schoolmates,  who  had  also  been  at  Cornell,  and  who 
had  been  an  especial  friend.  He  was  as  well  pleased 
as  I  at  the  meeting,  and  is  now  here  with  me.  He 
was  a  brilliant  scholar,  and  is  now  British  Columbia's 
most  eminent  geologist  and  mining  expert.  We  have 
been  out  together  to-day,  and  to  have  his  expert  opin- 
ion here  on  what  I  see  is  invaluable.     We  have  also 

met  here  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  R ,  of  Philadelphia,  to 

whom  I  had  a  letter,  a  promoter  of  the  largest  hy- 
draulic company  here,  and  H has  been  off  with 

Mrs.  R to-day  and  panned  her  first  chunks  of 

real,  true,  genuine  gold,  of  which  performance  she 


94  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 

is  not  a  little  proud.  The  whole  country  seems  to  be 
more  or  less  full  of  gold ;  it  is  in  the  gravels  and 
sands  everywhere,  and  a  number  of  very  large  gold- 
getting  enterprises  are  under  way,  mostly  hydraulic 
placer  mining,  but  also  some  fine  quartz  veins  carry- 
ing free  gold  are  being  opened  up,  and  I  have  been 
off  with  Sutton  all  the  afternoon  looking  at  one. 

September  1,  1903. 
We  have  had  three  days  of  outing ;  at  least,  I  have. 
Saturday  morning  I  made  an  early  start  with  Sut- 
ton and  three  other  men  for  a  visit  to  some  hydraulic 
mining  operations  up  on  Pine  Creek,  and  to  the  great 
dredge  now  being  built.  At  one  of  these,  an  opera- 
tion called  "The  Sunrise  Gold  Co.,"  I  found  in 
charge  a  Mr.  Ruffner,  of  Cincinnati,  a  cousin  to 
the  Kanawha  family,  grandson  of  one  of  the  orig- 
inal Ruffner  brothers,  who,  hating  slavery,  had  freed 
his  slaves  and  removed  to  free  soil  in  Ohio.  A 
bright  young  fellow,  managing  a  large  operation. 
Then  we  went  on  further  to  Gold  Run,  where  an 
enormous  dredge  is  being  built.  An  experiment  in 
this  country,  about  the  final  success  of  which  there 
is  yet  much  question.  Here  I  dined  in  a  tent,  which 
is  warmer,  they  say,  than  any  timber  building,  even 
when  the  temperature  is  50  degrees  below  zero.  The 
valley  is  a  broad,  open  one,  all  of  glacial  formation. 
It  is  very  level,  with  Pine  Creek  cutting  deeply  be- 
tween high  gravel  banks.  A  black  top  soil  of  a  foot 
or  two,  eight  or  ten   feet  of  grey  gravel,   then  as 


ATLIX  BAGGAGE  EXPRESS. 


ATLIX   CITY  WATER  WORKS. 


CARTBOU    CROSSING    AND    ATLIN.  97 

much  more  yellowish  sandy  gravel,  and  often  a  foot 
or  two  of  black  sand  at  the  bottom,  lying  upon  a 
bed  of  serpentine  rock;  and  it  is  in  this  lowest  ten 
feet  of  yellow  gravel  and  black  sand  that  the  free 
gold  is  found,  nuggets  of  a  pound  or  two  down  to 
minute  gold  dust,  a  red  gold  of  about  22  to  23  carats 
in  combination  with  copper  or  silver.  Through  this 
gravel  are  also  immense  stones  and  boulders,  and  these 
are  the  gold  diggers'  particular  bete  noir.  Most  of 
the  digging  is  done  by  getting  out  this  gravel,  free- 
ing it  of  the  boulders  and  washing  it.  Pine  Creek 
is  the  overflow  of  Surprise  Lake,  a  sheet  of  water 
twenty  miles  long  and  one-half  to  one  mile  wide; 
and  although  a  considerable  stream,  yet  its  waters 
are  so  much  needed  in  these  gold-washing  operations 
that  a  constant  water-war  among  the  diggers  and 
digging  companies  goes  on.  There  is  much  waste 
also  in  the  present  methods,  and  it  is  to  prevent  the 
wars  as  well  as  to  save  the  fine  gold  that  now  largely 
escapes  that  the  dredging  method  is  to  be  applied. 
Then,  too,  there  are  only  four,  or  at  most  five,  months 
in  the  year  when  men  can  work,  so  that  great  energy 
must  be  expended  during  the  open  season.  There 
is  no  night  up  here  for  these  four  months,  and  men 
work  all  the  twenty-four  hours  in  eight-hour  shifts; 
thus,  really,  more  work  is  done  than  one  would  at 
first  imagine.  The  life  of  the  ideally  successful  gold 
digger  is  to  toil  with  unflagging  vigor  for  the  four 
or  five  months  of  daylight  and  open  weather,  then 
"come  out"  and  blow  it  in  in  leisurely  luxury  in 


98  IN   TO   THE  YUKON. 

some  comfortable  city.  But  not  all  are  so  able  to 
make  their  summer  pile.  They  may  not  strike  rich 
pay  dirt,  but  may  find  it  lean,  or  even  barren,  and 
such  must  just  live  on  through  ice  and  snow  and 
mighty  frost,  hoping  for  more  luck  another  year. 
Many  are  the  tales  of  hardship  and  suffering  and 
dire  wreck  one  hears.  The  little  graveyard  out  along 
the  Pine  Creek  pike  has  many  graves  in  it.  One 
man  died  a  natural  death,  they  say,  but  all  the  rest 
went  to  their  graves  stark  mad  from  disappoint- 
ment, poverty  and  privation.  Every  train  passing 
out  over  the  White  Pass  Railway  carries  its  comple- 
ment of  the  hopelessly  insane,  gone  mad  in  the  hunt 
for  gold. 

In  this  little  town  or  "camp,"  as  it  is  called,  are 
very  many  too  poor  to  get  away,  too  broken  in 
health  and  spirits  to  more  than  barely  exist.  A  deli- 
cate woman,  once  the  wife  of  the  mayor  of  an  Illi- 
nois city,  does  our  washing;  her  husband,  a  maimed 
and  frozen  cripple,  sits  penniless  and  helpless  while 
she  earns  a  pittance  at  the  tub.  Our  landlady  lets 
rooms  to  lodgers,  her  husband's  body  lying  beneath 
the  deep  waters  of  Teslin  Lake. 

A  Cambridge  Senior  wrangler  passed  us  yesterday 
on  the  road  driving  two  dogs  hitched  to  a  little 
wagon,  peddling  cabbages  and  fish.  A  few  strike 
gold,  and,  making  their  piles,  depart,  but  the  many 
toil  hopelessly  on,  working  for  a  wage,  or  frozen  or 
crippled,  weary  in  spirit  and  out  of  heart,  sink  into 
penury,  or  die  mad. 


GOYEHXMEXT  MAIL  CROSSIXG  LAKE  ATLIX. 


MIXER'S   CABIX   OX   SPRUCE   CREEK — ATLIX 
GOLD   DIGGIXGS. 


CARIBOU    CROSSING    AND   ATLIN.  101 

After  our  dinner  in  the  tent  I  joined  another 
party,  some  of  those  interested  in  the  building  of 
the  dredge,  and  drove  with  them  twenty  miles  up 
into  the  interior  to  Otter  Creek,  where  three  of  them 
have  just  started  an  operation,  sluicing  for  gold.  We 
passed  many  cabins  and  small  tents,  where  live  the 
men  who  are  working  claims  and  washing  for  gold. 
Some  were  quite  shut  down  for  lack  of  water,  others 

were  eagerly  at  work.     At  one  point  a  Mr.   S 

and  I  left  the  wagon  and  struck  six  miles  across  a 
great  grassy  mountain.  We  must  have  ascended 
2,000  feet  or  more.  An  easy  ascent  over  a  vast  ex- 
panse of  moss  and  tufted  grass;  no  trees,  no  bushes, 
no  hardy  herbs,  nothing  but  grass  and  moss.  Only 
on  the  south  and  west  was  the  horizon  bounded  by 
jagged  peaks  and  summits  of  snow-topped  moun- 
tains. Glacial  action  has  everywhere  worn  down  the 
surface  into  rounded  rolling  domes  and  slopes,  and 
for  hundreds  of  miles  the  land  is  one  wide  moorland 
of  grass  and  moss. 

Here  are  many  flocks  of  wild  sheep  and  mountain 
goats,  and  here  moose  and  caribou  are  said  to  abound. 
During  the  day,  about  the  noon  hour,  a  giant  bull 
moose  had  stalked  deliberately  through  the  midst  of 
the  camp,  neither  quickening  his  pace,  nor  fearing 
man.  So  engrossed  were  the  men  in  their  search  for 
gold,  that  none  dropped  pick  or  shovel  to  molest  him. 

On  these  higher  slopes  are  multitudes  of  ptarmigan, 
— the  birds  breeding  close  to  the  permanent  snow 
line,  remaining  high  up  during  the  summer  heats,  and 


102  IN    TO   THE    YUKON. 

gradually  descending  to  the  valleys  as  the  fresh  fall- 
ing autumnal  snows  little  by  little  push  them  down. 

In  Atlin,  the  other  day,  a  young  Swedish  engi- 
neer, a  graduate  of  Upsala,  showed  me  a  fine  pair 
of  ibex  horns  from  one  which  he  had  shot  high  up 
on  the  mountains  beyond  the  lake.  The  animal, 
though  not  uncommon,  is  difficult  to  get,  inhabiting 
the  most  inaccessible  summits  and  rarely  descending 
to  even  the  levels  where  the  mountain  sheep  and  goats 
find  pasture. 

A  superb  and  seemingly  boundless  pasture  land 
where  great  herds  of  cattle  ought  also  to  be  feeding, 
and  would  be,  except  for  the  terror  of  the  winter's 
cold.  Perhaps  the  reindeer  will  some  day  here  find 
a  congenial  home. 

We  sat  by  fires  after  nightfall,  and  when  day 
came  icicles  a  foot  long  hung  all  along  the  drip  of 
the  flume,  and  in  the  afternoon  snow  fell,  covering 
every  rounded  summit  with  its  white  mantle. 

Returning,  I  walked  another  ten  miles  down  the 
winding  valley  of  Otter  Creek.  A  stretch  of  open, 
grassy  moorland,  where  in  the  winter-time  the  moose 
and  caribou  gather  in  numbers  seeking  shelter  from 
the  winds,  and  finding  the  dried  grass  through  the 
scraped-off  snow. 

To-day  H ,  Sutton  and  I  have  driven  for  hours 

along  the  valley  of  Spruce  Creek,  visiting  another 
industrious  gold-washing  section.     We  picnicked  for 

lunch  in   an   abandoned   miner's  camp,   and   H 

saw  her  first  real  washing  for  gold.     We  took  the 


FINDING   "COLOR,"   A   GOOD   STRIKE,   OTTER 
CREEK,   B.   C. 


SLUICING  FOR   GOLD.  OTTER   CREEK,  B.   C. 


AX  ATLIX   GOLD-DIGGER. 


CARIBOU    CROSSING    AND   ATLIN.  107 

picture  of  one  old  man,  a  Mr.  Alfred  Sutton,  in 
whose  cabin  we  had  sought  shelter  from  a  passing 
rain  squall.  He  had  hoped  to  return  to  England 
for  the  winter — he  left  there  many  years  ago— but 
the  gold  had  not  come  in  as  rich  as  he  had  hoped, 
so  he  must  delay  his  going  for  one  more  year.  Poor 
old  fellow,  his  beard  was  long  and  white,  so,  too, 
his  uncombed  hair.  He  had  not  yet  made  his  yellow 
pile,  but  was  as  hopeful  as  a  boy  of  twenty.  I 
promised  to  send  him  a  copy  of  the  photograph  and 
he  thanked  me  joyfully,  saying,  "And  I  shall  send 
it  to  my  family  at  home" — in  England. 

We  are  here  two  days  longer,  when  we  move  on 
to  Dawson  and  I  mail  these  lines  to  you. 

September  2.  1903. 

This  is  our  last  day  in  Atlin.  The  morning  was 
cold  like  late  November  in  Virginia,  the  air  keen 
and  frosty.  Ice  has  formed  in  the  pools,  though  the 
aspen  and  scrub  willow  and  a  sort  of  stunted  alder 
are  only  turned  yellow  in  spots  and  patches.  The 
mountain-tops  are  now  all  whitened  with  the  delicate 
early  snows,  extending  like  blankets  of  hoar-frost 
out  beyond  the  margins  of  the  snow  fields  that  never 
melt. 

We  dine  sumptuously,  and  all  through  the  gold 
fields  it  is  the  same.  The  one  thing  men  will  and 
must  have  is  food,  good  food  and  no  stint.  The  most 
expensive  canned  goods,  the  costliest  preserves,  the 
most  high-priced  fresh  fruits,  oranges,  bananas,  pears 


108  IN   TO    THE    YUKON. 

and  grapes,  the  finest  beef  steaks  and  meats,  the 
most  ample  variety  of  vegetables.  Such  an  average 
as  New  York  gives  only  in  her  best  hotels,  is  what 
the  gold  digger  demands,  will  have,  and  freely  spends 
his  nuggets  to  obtain.  We  are  astonished  at  such 
lavish  eating.  At  the  diggings  where  men  work  for 
wages,  $4.50  and  $5.00  per  day,  board  is  always  in- 
cluded and  demanded,  and  only  this  high-priced, 
costly  food  is  accepted.  The  cooks  are  connoisseurs. 
Their  wages  run  from  $125.00  to  $150.00  per  month 
and  free  board.  At  the  camp  high  amidst  the  deso- 
late moorlands  of  Otter  Creek,  the  men  eat  beef 
steaks,  thick,  juicy,  rare,  California  fresh  fruit  and 
lemon  meringue  pie;  with  lemons  $1.00  per  dozen 
and  eggs  ten  cents  apiece !  Dundee  marmalade  is 
eaten  by  the  ton;  the  costliest  canned  cream  is  swal- 
lowed by  the  gallon — the  one  permitted,  recognized 
and  established  extravagance  of  the  gold  fields  is 
the  sumptuous  eating  of  every  man  who  finds  the 
gold. 

This  afternoon  Sutton  and  ourselves  with  a  few 
friends  are  going  down  to  see  the  great  glacier  at 
the  south  end  of  Lake  Atlin. 


GREAT    LLEWELLEN    GLACIER.  1Q9 


SIXTH  LETTER. 

THE   GREAT    LLEWELLYN  OR    TAKU    GLACIER. 

Oakibou  Crossing,  September  4,  1903. 

We  have  just  come  in  on  the  steamboat  from 
Atlin,  and  are  waiting  for  the  train  which  will  take 
us  to  White  Horse  this  afternoon,  where  we  will 
take  a  river  boat  to  Dawson. 

Day  before  yesterday  we  took  the  little  steamboat 
that  plies  across  Atlin  Lake,  having  chartered  it  with 
Sutton,  and  having  asked  a  Mr.  Knight,  of  Philadel- 
phia, and  Captain  Irving,  of  Victoria,  making  a  party 
of  five,  and  went  to  the  head  of  the  lake — forty-five 
miles.  A  lovely  sail.  Up  the  narrow  mountain- 
locked  channel  on  the  west  of  Goat  Island  (named 
from  the  many  wild  goats  on  it).  The  water  a  clear, 
deep  blue  and  light  green,  according  to  its  depth. 
The  mountains  chiefly  granite,  rising  sheer  up  on 
either  hand  four  and  five  thousand  feet;  the  fir  for- 
est, dense  and  sombre,  clothing  their  bases,  then  run- 
ning out  to  ground  pine  and  low  shrubs,  then  the 
grass  and  mosses,  then  the  bare  rocks  and  jagged 
crags  and  the  everlasting  snows.  The  lake  channel 
is  everywhere  narrow,  sometimes  widening  out  to  five 
or  six  miles,  then  narrowing  into  a  mile  or  two,  but 
the  air  is  so  wonderfully  translucent  that  ten  miles 
look  like  one,  and  distant  shores  seem  close  at  hand. 
The  further  we  sailed  the  narrower  grew  the  chan- 


110  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 

nel,  until  we  were  among  islands  and  canons,  with 
sheer  snow-capped  heights  hanging  above  us,  at  last 
slowly  creeping  through  a  tortuous  passageway  of 
still  water  out  into  a  long,  silent  arm,  at  whose  head 
we  tied  up  to  the  forest  for  the  night.  These  clear 
waters  are  filled  with  trout  and  grayling — the  latter 
chiefly,  but  of  birds  there  were  almost  none.  Only 
a  belated  and  startled  great  blue  heron  flapped  lazily 
away  to  the  west.  Using  our  glasses,  we  saw  two  or 
three  wild  goats  up  on  the  heights  above  us,  and 
probably  many  more  saw  us  far  down  below. 

In  the  morning  we  breakfasted  early,  and  started 
for  the  glacier — the  great  Llewellen  or  Taku  gla- 
cier, said  to  be  the  largest  in  the  British  possessions 
of  North  America,  sixty  miles  long  to  where  it  comes 
to  Taku  Bay,  near  Juneau,  and  is  there  known  as 
Taku  glacier.  "We  clambered  over  a  mile  of  trail, 
through  dense,  close-growing  fir,  then  out  into  a  wide 
plain  of  detritus,  once  covered  by  the  ice,  now  two 
miles  long  by  a  mile  wide.  Difficult  walking,  all 
glacial  drift,  and  boulders  great  and  small.  The 
distance  to  the  vast  slope  of  dirty  ice  seemed  only  a 
little  way;  nothing  but  the  walk  would  convince  one 
that  it  was  over  two  miles.  The  glacier  projects  in 
a  great  bow.  On  its  center,  like  a  hog-back  mane, 
are  piled  masses  of  earth  and  rocks.  It  is  there  that 
the  moving  ice  river  is.  On  either  side  the  ice  is 
almost  still  and  white.  For  five  or  ten  miles  the 
glacier  rises  toward  an  apparent  summit  and  stretches 
toward  the  coast,  fed  by  a  multitude  of  lesser  ice 


GREAT    LLEWELLEN    GLACIER.  Ill 

streams  issuing  from  every  mountain  gorge  and  val- 
ley, while  monstrous  masses  of  rock,  granite  and 
porphyry,  tower  into  the  snows  and  clouds  above  it. 
We  had  some  difficulty  in  climbing  upon  the  glacier. 
Chasms  opened  on  either  side,  the  front  was  a  crack- 
ing ice  cliff,  crevasses  yawned  everywhere.  Though 
the  surface  was  dirty  and  blackened,  yet  down  in  the 
cracks  and  crevasses  the  wonderful  blue  ice  ap- 
peared. From  the  base  of  the  glacier  flows  a  river, 
and  over  its  surface  coursed  a  thousand  rills. 

We  walked  upon  the  ice  and  lingered  near  it 
till  about  noon,  when  our  boat  took  us  back  to  Atlin 
through  the  greater  lake,  along  the  east  shores  of 
Goat  Island,  a  four  hours'  sail. 

From  Atlin  we  have  returned  as  we  went,  and 
are  now  spending  a  few  hours  here.  There  were  very 
few  birds  on  Atlin  Lake,  though  I  saw  a  superb  loon 
yesterday  near  the  western  shore. 

Ice  formed  on  the  lake  last  night.  Snow  is  in 
the  air.  We  may  be  too  late  to  go  down  the  Yukon 
from  Dawson. 


112  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 


SEVENTH  LETTER. 

VOYAGING    DOWN    THE   MIGHTY    YUKON. 

Dawson,  September  5,  1908. 
This  letter  is  headed  Dawson,  for  I  shall  mail 
it  there,  but  I  begin  it  at  White  Horse,  a  thriving 
town  of  over  2,000  people,  on  the  west  bank  of  the 
Fifty  Mile  River,  just  below  the  famous  rapids.  The 
streets  are  wide,  of  hard  gravel,  many  large  build- 
ings. We  are  in  the  "Windsor"  Hotel,  a  three- 
storied  wooden  structure,  iron  bedsteads,  wire  mat- 
tresses, modern  American  oak  furniture — very  com- 
fortable, but  as  all  the  partitions  are  of  paper— no 
plaster — you  can  hear  in  one  room  all  that  is  said 
on  six  sides  of  you — above  and  below,  too.  The 
city  and  hotel  are  electric-lighted.  Many  churches, 
a  commodious  public  school,  public  hall  and  read- 
ing-room supplied  with  all  current  American,  Cana- 
dian and  English  magazines.  The  town  is  up  to 
date.  It  is  at  the  head  of  the  Yukon  navigation, 
where  those  "going  out"  take  the  White  Pass  and 
Yukon  Railway  for  Skagway,  and  those  "going  in" 
take  the  boats  for  "Dawson."  Just  now  the  town 
is  half  deserted,  many  of  its  inhabitants  having  stam- 
peded to  the  new  Kluhane  gold  strike,  some  one  hun- 
dred and  forty  miles  away.  It  is  here  claimed  that 
a  new  Eldorado  as  rich  as  the  Klondike  has  been 
found,  and  White  Horse  now  expects  to  yet  rival 
Dawson.  Extensive  finds  of  copper  ore  of  high  grade 
are  also  reported  in  the  neighborhood. 


BISHOP  AXD   MRS.   BOMPAS. 


THE   GREAT   LLFAVELLYN   GLACIER. 


DOWN    THE   YUKON.  115 

We  arrived  at  Caribou  yesterday  morning  on  the 
little  S.  S.  "Scotia,"  built  on  Lake  Bennett,  after  a 
very  comfortable  night,  and  went  over  to  Dawson 
Charlie's  hotel  for  a  good  breakfast.     By  this  time 

H and  the  Indian  housekeeper  had  become  fast 

friends,   and  the   girl   accordingly   brought  out   her 

store  of  nuggets  and  nugget  jewelry  for  H to 

see.  A  lovely  chain  of  little  nuggets  linked  together, 
a  yard  or  more  long,  earrings,  breastpins,  buckles, 
and  sundry  nuggets,  large  and  small.  It  is  Dawson 
Charlie's  habit,  when  in  a  good  humor,  to  give  her 
one  of  the  pocketful  of  nuggets  he  usually  carries 
around. 

We  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  rushing  outflow 
of  Lake  Bennett  and  went  down  to  the  Indian  vil- 
lage, and  called  on  the  man  whom  all  Canadian 
churchmen  affectionately  and  reverently  term  the 
"Apostle  of  the  North,"  old  Bishop  Bompas  and  his 
quaint,  white-haired  wife.  For  over  forty-five  years 
he  has  wrought  among  the  Indians  of  the  Peace  River, 
the  Mackenzie  and  Yukon  watersheds.  He  is  an  old 
man,  but  as  erect  as  a  Cree  brave.  His  diocese  is 
*  now  limited  to  the  Yukon  waters,  where,  he  says, 
are  about  1,000  Indians,  and,  of  course,  an  increas- 
ing number  of  white  men.  They  lived  in  this  back, 
wild  country  long  before  the  white  men  thought  of 
gold,  or  the  Indian  knew  of  its  value.  I  took  their 
pictures  and  promised  to  send  them  copies. 

This  morning  we  have  walked  a  few  miles  up  the 
river  to  see  the  celebrated  White  Horse  Rapids,  and 


116  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

1  went  four  miles  further ,  and  saw  also  the  Miles 
Omon,  where  the  waters  of  Lake  Taggish  and  Fifty 
Mile  River  begin  their  wild  six  miles  before  reaching 
here.  The  canon  is  sharply  cleft  in  trap  rock,  and  the 
sides  rise  sheer  and  pilastered  as  though  cut  into 
right-angled  pillars.  These  cliffs  rise  up  200  feet 
or  more  and  go  down  as  deep  below  the  foaming 
tide.  The  cleft  does  not  seem  more  than  100  yards 
wide,  and  through  it  the  waters  boil  and  roar.  How 
the  early  gold  hunters  ever  got  through  the  furious 
waters  alive  is  the  wonder,  and  indeed  very  many 
did  lose  their  lives  here,  as  well  as  in  the  dashing 
rapids  below. 

On  the  Yukon,  September  7,  1903. 
We  have  boarded  the  steamer  "White  Horse," 
whose  captain  is  commodore  of  the  Yukon  fleet — 
twenty-odd  large  steamers  owned  by  the  White  Pass 
&  Yukon  Ry.  Co.  We  have  a  stateroom  at  the  rear 
of  the  texas,  with  a  window  looking  out  behind  as 
well  as  at  the  side.  I  can  lie  in  my  berth  and  see 
the  river  behind  us.  We  swung  out  into  the  swift 
blue  current  about  a  quarter  to  seven,  yet  bright 
day,  the  big  boat  turning  easily  in  the  rather  nar- 
row channel.  The  boat  is  about  the  size  of  those 
running  between  Charleston,  W.  Va.,  and  Cincinnati 
or  Pittsburg — 165  feet  long,  35  feet  wide,  and  draws 

2  1-2  feet,  with  a  big  stern  wheel : — the  Columbia 
River  type  rather  than  the  Mississippi,  such  as  run 
from  Dawson  down— sits  rather  high  in  the  water 


FISHING   FOR   GRAYLING — WHITE 
HORSE  RAPIDS. 


MOONLIGHT  OX  LAKE  LE  BARGE. 


LAKE  BEXXETT  FROM  OUR  CAR. 


DOWN   THE   YUKON.  121 

and  lower  parts  all  enclosed.  She  has  powerful  ma- 
chinery fit  for  breasting  the  swift  waters;  a  large, 
commodious  dining  salon;  a  ladies'  parlor  in  the  rear; 
a  smoking-room  for  gentlemen  forward;  lighted  with 
electricity,  and  all  modern  conveniences.  She  was 
built  at  White  Horse,  as  were  also  ten  of  the  sister 
boats  run  by  the  railway  company.  Six  years  ago 
no  steamboat  had  traversed  these  waters.  With  the 
current  we  travel  fourteen  to  twenty  miles  an  hour, 
against  the  current  only  five !  The  river  winds 
among  hills  and  flats,  and  mountains  all  fir-clad  and 
yellowed  with  much  golden  aspen,  turned  by  the 
nightly  frosts. 

We  came  down  through  Fifty  Mile  River,  which 
is  the  name  given  to  the  waters  connecting  Lake 
Taggish  and  Lake  Lebarge.  The  moon  hung  full 
and  low  in  the  south,  giving  a  light  as  white  as  upon 
the  table-lands  of  Mexico,  so  clear  is  the  atmosphere 
and  free  from  atmospheric  dust.  We  sat  upon  the 
upper  deck  until  late  in  the  night,  watching  the  vary- 
ing panorama.  From  the  window  of  my  stateroom, 
lying  in  my  berth,  I  looked  an  hour  or  more  while 
we  sailed  through  Lake  Lebarge — five  or  six  miles 
wide,  thirty  miles  long — hemmed  in  by  lofty,  rounded, 
fir-clad  limestone  mountains,  4,000  or  5,000  feet  in 
altitude — the  full  moon  illuminating  the  quiet  waters. 
Only  the  frequent  mocking  laugh  of  the  loon  echoed 
on  the  still  night  air — there  seemed  to  be  hosts  of 
them.  Once  I  heard  the  melancholy  howling  of  a 
timber  wolf  among  the  shadows  of  a  deep  bay.    From 


122  IN   TO   THE    YUKON. 

Lake  Lebarge  we  entered  the  swift  and  dangerous 
currents  of  Thirty  Mile  River.  Here  the  boats  usu- 
ally tie  up  till  daylight,  but  with  the  full  moon  and 
our  immense  electric  searchlight,  the  captain  ven- 
tured to  go  down.  Again  I  sat  up  watching  the 
foaming  waters  behind  us  and  how  deftly  we  backed 
and  swung  round  the  many  sharp  bends :— high 
mountains  quite  shutting  us  in,  the  foaming  waters 
white  and  black  in  the  moonlight  and  shadow.  At 
last,  when  the  mountains  seemed  higher,  blacker, 
more  formidable  than  ever,  we  suddenly  rounded 
a  precipitous  mass  of  limestone  and  granite  and  float- 
ed out  into  an  immense  pool,  while  away  to  the  east 
seemingly  joined  us  another  river  as  large  as  our  own, 
the  Hootalinqua,  fetching  down  the  yet  greater  tides 
of  Lake  Teslin,  and  forming  with  the  Thirty  Mile, 
the  true  Yukon— though  the  stream  is  mapped  as  the 
Lewes,  until  joined  by  the  Pelly,  many  miles  below. 
We  have  now  been  descending  this  great  river 
all  day  long;  as  wide  as  the  Ohio,  but  swifter  and 
deeper  and  always  dark  blue  water.  The  valley  is 
wide  like  the  Ohio;  the  bottom  lands  lying  higher 
above  the  water  and  the  country  rising  in  successive 
benches  till  the  horizon  is  bounded  by  rounded 
mountains  eight  or  ten  miles  away.  Mountains  green 
with  fir,  golden  yellow  with  the  aspen  and  the  birch, 
and  red  and  scarlet  with  the  lutestring  herb  and 
lichens  of  the  higher  slopes.  A  magnificent  pano- 
rama, an  immense  and  unknown  land,  not  yet  taken 
possession  of  by  man!     The  soil  of  many  of  these 


A  YUKON   SUNSET. 


< 


THE   UPPER   YUKON. 


A  YUKON  COAL  MINE 


FIVE  FINGERS  RAPIDS  ON  THE  YUKON. 


DOWN   THE    YUKON.  127 

bottoms  is  rich,  and  will  yield  wonderful  crops  when 
tilled.  Some  distant  day,  towns  and  villages  will 
be  here.  We  have  seen  many  loons  upon  the  river, 
and  probably  twenty  or  thirty  golden  eagles  soaring 
high  in  mighty  circles— more  than  I  have  seen  in  a 
single  day  before.  We  caught  sight  of  a  black  fox 
in  the  twilight  last  evening,  and  surprised  a  red  fox 
hunting  mussel  shells  upon  a  river  bar  to-day. 

We  have  passed  several  steamers  coming  up  the 
river  and  stopped  twice  to  take  on  firewood  and  a 
few  times  to  put  off  mail  at  the  stations  of  the  North- 
west Mounted  Police.  About  four  o'clock  p.  m.  we 
safely  passed  through  the  dangerous  rocky  pass  of 
the  Five  Fingers,  where  five  basalt  rocks  of  gigantic 
size  tower  100  feet  into  the  air  and  block  the  passage 
of  the  foaming  waters.  Just  where  we  passed,  the 
cliffs  seemed  almost  to  touch  our  gunwales,  so  near 
are  they  together.  The  banks  are  high  slopes  of  sand 
and  gravel,  now  and  then  striped  by  a  white  band 
of  volcanic  dust.  The  trees  are  small  and  stunted, 
but  growing  thickly  together,  so  as  scarcely  to  let  a 
man  pass  between.  We  have  seen  two  puny  coal 
banks  where  is  mined  a  dirty  bituminous  coal,  but 
worth  $30.00  to  $40.00  per  ton  in  Dawson.  Better 
than  a  mine  of  gold ! 

We  have  just  now  run  through  the  difficult  pass- 
age known  as  Hell's  Gates,  where  on  one  side  a  mass 
of  cliff  and  on  the  other  a  shifting  sand  bar  con- 
fine the  waters  to  a  swift  and  treacherous  chute. 
So  close  to  the  rocks  have  we  passed  that  one  might 


128  IN   TO  THE   YUKON. 

have  clasped  hands  with  a  man  upon  them,  yet  for 
a  mile  we  never  touched  their  jagged  sides.  Clever 
steering  by  our  Norwegian  pilot! 

Now  we  are  past  the  mouth  of  the  great  Pelly 
River,  itself  navigable  for  steamboats  for  some  three 
hundred  miles,  as  far  as  up  to  White  Horse  by  the 
main  stream,  and  are  hove  to  at  Fort  Selkirk,  an 
old  Hudson  Bay  Company  post.  Here  the  mounted 
police  maintain  a  considerable  force.  They  are  stand- 
ing on  the  bank,  many  of  them  in  their  red  coats, 
together  with  a  group  of  the  Pelly  Indians,  a  tribe 
of  famous  fur  hunters. 

Passing  safely  through  the  treacherous  Lewes  Rap- 
ids above  the  mouth  of  the  Pelly,  we  have  swung  out 
into  the  true  Yukon,  an  immense  river,  wide  as  the 
Mississippi  at  St.  Louis,  many  islands  and  sand  bars. 
At  high  water  the  river  must  here  be  two  miles 
across.  The  moon  hangs  round  and  white  in  the 
south,  not  much  above  the  horizon,  and  we  shall 
slowly  steam  ahead  all  night. 

September  7,  1903. 
"We  are  making  a  quick  trip.  We  passed  the 
mouth  of  the  Stewart  River  in  the  early  dawn.  An- 
other great  stream  navigable  for  200  miles.  By  the 
Pelly  Valley  or  by  the  Stewart,  and  their  feeding 
lakes,  will  some  day  enter  the  railroads  from  the  val- 
ley of  the  Mackenzie,  coming  up  from  Edmonton 
and  the  southeast.    There  is  supposed  to  be  yet  much 


COMIXG  UP  THE  YUKON. 


DOWN   THE   YUKON.  131 

undiscovered  gold  on  both  of  these  streams,  and  tine 
grass  land  and  black  soil  fit  for  root  crops. 

The  Yukon,  the  mighty  Yukon,  is  surely  now  be- 
come a  gigantic  river,  its  deep  blue  waters  carrying 
a  tide  as  great  as  the  St.  Lawrence.  We  are  making  a 
record  trip,  Ogilvie  by  11  a.  m..  and  Dawson,  sixty 
miles  below,  in  three  more  hours !  So  the  captain 
cheerily  avers — the  fuller  current  and  deeper  tide 
of  waters  carrying  us  the  more  swiftly. 

The  mountains  are  lower,  more  rounded  in  outline, 
fir  and  golden  aspen  and  now  red-leaved  birch  forests 
covering  them  to  their  summits.  The  air  is  cold  and 
keen.  Ice  at  night,  grey  fogs  at  dawn,  clear  blue  sky 
by  the  time  the  sun  feebly  warms  at  nine  or  ten  o  'clock. 

We  are  reaching  lands  where  the  ground  is  frozen 
solid  a  few  feet  below  the  summer  thaws,  and  the 
twilight  still  lingers  till  nine  o'clock.  They  tell  us 
the  days  are  shortening,  but  it  is  hard  to  credit  it, 
so  long  is  yet  the  eventime. 

I  shall  mail  this  letter  at  Dawson  and  send  you 
yet  another  before  we  go  down  the  river  to  the  Beh- 
ring  Sea. 

To-day  I  saw  the  first  gulls,  white  and  brown,  some 
ducks  on  wing,  many  ravens  and  but  few  eagles.  We 
are  having  a  great  trip,  worth  all  the  time  and  effort 
to  get  here — on  the  brink  of  the  Arctic  north,  and 
in  one  of  the  yet  but  half -explored  regions  of  the 
earth. 


132  IN   TO   THE    YUKON. 


EIGHTH  LETTER. 

DAWSON    AND    THE    GOLDEN    KLONDIKE. 

Dawson,  Yukon  Territory,  \ 
Thursday,  September  10,  1903.      j 

We  came  in  on  Tuesday  afternoon,  the  steamer 
"White  Horse"  having  had  an  unusually  good  run. 
As  we  descended  the  river  the  stream  grew  larger, 
wider,  with  more  water,  and  when  we  passed  the 
White  River  the  blue  water  there  changed  to  a  muddy 
white,  discolored  by  the  turgid,  whitish  tide  of  that 
stream.  It  must  flow  somewhere  through  beds  of  the 
white  volcanic  ash,  that  for  so  many  miles  marks 
the  banks  of  the  Yukon  with  its  threadlike  white 
line  a  foot  or  two  below  the  surface  soil. 

As  we  passed  the  swift  water  of  Klondike  shoals 
and  rounded  in  toward  the  landing,  our  own  hoarse 
whistle  was  replied  to  by  several  steamers  lying  at 
the  various  wharf  boats.  We  were  ahead  of  time; — 
our ,  arrival   was  an  event. 

The  town  lies  well,  upon  a  wide  bottom,  and  now 
begins  to  climb  the  back  hill  to  a  secondary  flat.  It 
is  laid  off  with  wide  streets,  the  chief  of  which  are 
graveled  and  fairly  kept.  There  are  a  few  brick 
buildings,  but  most  are  of  wood,  here  and  there 
an  old-time  (six  years  old)  log  building  appearing 
among  the  more  modern  ones  built  of  sawed  lum- 
ber— for  logs  are  now  too  precious  and  too  costly 
to  squander. 


THE    GOLDEN    KLONDIKE.  135 

The  town  has  telephones  and  electric  lights,  which 
latter  must  pay  finely  when  you  realize  that  for 
nearly  seven  months  darkness  prevails  over  day. 
There  are  two  morning-  daily,  and  one  evening  daily 
newspapers,  with  all  Associated  Press  telegraphic 
news.  I  send  you  a  copy  of  one  of  them.  Two  banks 
handle  the  gold,  buying  the  miners'  "dust"  and 
doing  a  thriving  business. 

There  are  half  a  dozen  quite  handsome  churches, 
two  hospitals,  government  buildings,  the  "Governor's 
Palace,"  and  a  number  of  residences  that  would  do 
credit  to  any  town.  There  are  two  large  sawmills 
near  the  mouth  of  the  Klondike  River,  which  is 
crossed  by  two  fine  bridges,  one  iron  and  one  wood. 
Of  foundries  and  machine  shops  there  are  many. 
The  stores  and  shops  are  many  of  them  pretentious 
and  filled  with  the  most  expensive  high-class  goods 
and  wares — for,  in  the  first  place,  the  gold  miner  is 
lavish,  extravagant,  and  will  only  have  the  very  best, 
while  it  costs  as  much  freight  to  bring  in  a  cheap 
commodity  as  an  expensive  one.  You  can  buy  as 
handsome  things  here  as  in  San  Francisco  or  New 
York,  if  you  don't  mind  the  price.  The  daily  news- 
papers are  sold  by  newsboys  on  the  streets  at  25  cents 
a  copy.  Fine  steaks  and  roasts,  mutton  and  veal, 
are  thirty-five  to  sixty-five  cents  per  pound.  Chick- 
ens, $2.00  to  $3.00  each.  A  glass  of  beer,  twenty-five 
cents. 

Some  elegant  drags  and  victorias,  with  fine  horses, 
as  well  as  many  superb  draft  horses,  are  seen  on  the 


136  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 

streets.  It  only  pays  to  have  the  best  horses;  a  scrub 
costs  as  much  to  bring  in  and  to  keep  as  a  good  one, 
and  hay  is  $60.00  to  $150.00  per  ton,  and  oats  are  sold 
by  the  pound,  sometimes  $1.00  per  pound.  Cows' 
milk  is  an  expensive  luxury  at  the  restaurants,  and 
various  canned  goods  form  the  staple  of  life. 

Many  large  steamboats  ply  on  the  Yukon,  and 
those  running  down  to  St.  Michael,  1,800  miles  below, 
are  of  the  finest  Mississippi  type,  and  are  run  by 
Mississippi  captains  and  pilots.  We  shall  go  down 
on  one  of  these,  the  " Sarah,"  belonging  to  the 
"Northern  Commercial  Company,"  one  of  the  two 
great  American  trading  companies.  Also  large  tow- 
boats  push  huge  freight  barges  up  and  down  the 
river. 

Several  six-horse  stage  lines  run  many  times  a 
day  to  the  various  mining  camps  up  and  adjacent  to 
the  Klondike  Valley,  which  is  itself  now  settled  and 
worked  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  Daw- 
son. Probably  thirty  to  thirty-five  thousand  people 
are  at  work  in  these  various  diggings,  and  trade  and 
spend  in  Dawson.  Hence  Dawson  takes  on  metropoli- 
tan airs,  and  considers  herself  the  new  metropolis  of 
the  far  north  and  Yukon   Valley. 

Two  things  strike  the  eye  on  first  walking  about 
the  town.  The  multitude  of  big,  long-haired,  wolf- 
like-looking dogs,  loafing  about,  and  the  smallness 
of  the  neat  dwelling-houses.  The  dogs  play  in  the 
summer  and  work  untiringly  through  the  long  seven 
months  of  winter— a  "dog's  life"  then  means  a  vol- 


DAWSON    CITY,   THE   YUKON — LOOKING    DOWN. 


DAWSON    AND    MOUTH    OF    KLONDIKE    RIVEK, 
LOOKING  UP. 


THE    GOLDEN    KLONDIKE.  139 

lime.  Small  houses  are  easier  to  warm  than  big  ones, 
when  fuel  is  scarce  and  wood  $16,  $20  and  $50  per 
cord,  and  soft  spruce  wood  at  that! 

But  Dawson  has  an  air  of  prosperity  about  it. 
The  men  and  women  are  well  dressed,  and  have  strong, 
keen  faces.  Many  of  them  "mushed"  across  Chil- 
koot  Pass  in  1897,  and  have  made  their  piles.  And 
they  are  ready  to  stampede  to  any  new  gold  field 
that  may  be  discovered. 

It  is  said  that  there  are  6,000  people  here,  stayers, 
and  then  there  is  a  fluctuating  horde  of  comers  and 
goers,  tenderfeet  many  of  them.  This  year  eleven 
millions  of  dust  has  come  into  Dawson  from  the 
neighboring  diggings,  and  since  1897,  they  say,  near 
a  hundred  millions  have  been  found !  Many  men  and 
even  women  have  made  their  millions  and  "gone 
out."  Others  have  spent  as  much,  and  are  starting 
in  anew,  and  the  multitude  all  expect  to  have  their 
piles  within  a  year  or  two.  A  curious  aggregation 
of  people  are  here  come  together,  and  from  all  parts ! 
There  are  very  many  whom  you  must  not  question 
as  to  their  past.  German  officers  driven  from  their 
Fatherland,  busted  English  bloods,  many  of  these 
in  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police,  and  titled  ne'er- 
do-wells  depending  upon  the  quarterly  remittances 
from  London,  and  Americans  who  had  rather  not 
meet  other  fellow  countrymen ; — mortals  who  have 
failed  to  get  on  in  other  parts  of  this  earth,  and  who 
have  come  to  hide  for  awhile  in  these  vast,  solitary 
regions,   strike  it   rich  if  possible   and   get  another 


140  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

start.  And  many  of  them  do  this  very  thing,  hit  upon 
new  fortunes,  and  sometimes,  steadied  by  former  ad- 
versity, lead  new,  honorable  careers;  but  most  of 
the  black  sheep,  if  luck  is  kindly  to  them,  only 
plunge  the  deeper  and  more  recklessly  into  vice  and 
dissipation.  The  town  is  full  of  splendid  bar-rooms 
and  gilded  gambling-hells.  Two  hundred  thousand 
a  night  has  been  lost  and  won  in  some  of  them. 

I  drove  past  a  large,  fine-looking  man,  but  pos- 
sessed of  a  weak,  dissipated  mouth,  on  Eldorado  Creek 
yesterday.  His  claim  has  been  one  of  the  fabu- 
lously rich,  a  million  or  more  out  of  a  patch  of 
gravel  1,000  feet  by  250,  and  he  has  now  drunk 
and  gambled  most  of  it  away,  divorced  a  nice  wife 
"in  the  States  outside,"  then  married  a  notorious 
belle  of  nether  Dawson,  and  will  soon  again  be  back 
to  pick  and  pan  and  dogs.  Another  claim  of  like  size 
on  Bonanza  Creek  was  pointed  out  to  me  where  two 
brothers  have  taken  out  over  a  million  and  a  quarter 
since  1897,  and  have  been  ruined  by  their  luck. 
They  have  recklessly  squandered  every  nugget  of  their 
sudden  riches  in  drunkenness  and  with  cards  and 
wine  and  women  to  a  degree  that  would  put  the 
ancient  Californian  days  of  '49  in  the  shade.  On 
the  other  hand,  there  are  such  men  as  Lippy,  who 
have  made  their  millions,  saved  and  invested  them 
wisely,  and  are  regarded  as  veritable  pillars  in  their 
communities.  Lippy  has  just  given  the  splendid 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  building  to  Seattle. 


THE    GOLDEN    KLONDIKE.  145 

There  is  now  much  substantial  wealth  in  Dawson 
and  the  Klondike.  Most  of  the  large  operations  are 
in  the  hands  of  Americans,  especially  of  the  American 
companies  who  have  bought  up  the  claims  after  the 
individual  miner,  who  just  worked  it  superficially  and 
dug  out  the  cream,  has  sold  the  skim  milk.  And  even 
the  major  part  of  the  original  "stakers"  seem  to 
have  been  Americans.  There  are  many  good  people 
in  Dawson  among  these.  Then,  too,  there  is  the  body 
of  Canadian  officials  who  govern  the  territory  of  Yu- 
kon— political  henchmen  of  Laurier  and  the  Liberal 
party,  many  of  them  French  Canadians.  The  gov- 
ernor himself  and  the  chief  of  these  officials  live  here, 
and  their  families  form  the  inner  circle  of  select 
society.  Very  anti-American  they  are  said  to  be, 
and  they  do  not  mix  much  with  the  Americans  who, 
of  equal  or  superior  social  standing  at  home,  here 
devote  themselves  to  business  and  gold  getting  and 
let  Canadian  society  and  politics  altogether  alone. 
But  while  the  alert  American  has  been  the  first  to 
stake,  occupy  and  extract  the  wealth  of  the  Klondike, 
and  while  by  his  energy  and  tireless  perseverance  he 
has  made  the  Yukon  Territory  the  greatest  placer 
mining  region  of  the  world,  yet  this  acquirement 
of  vast  wealth  by  Americans  has  not  really  been 
pleasing  to  the  Canadians,  nor  to  the  government 
of  Ottawa.  So  these  governing  gentlemen  in  Ottawa 
have  put  their  heads  together  to  discover  how  they, 
too,  might  profit,  and  especially  profit,  by  the  energy 
of  the  venturesome  American.     How  themselves  se- 


146  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

cure  the  chestnuts  after  he  had,  at  peril  of  life  and 
fortune,  securely  pulled  the  same  out  of  the  fire — in 
this  case,  frightful  frost  and  ice !  And  they  hit  upon 
this  plan :  They  resolved  themselves  into  little  groups, 
and  the  government  then  began  granting  extensive  and 
exclusive  blanket  concessions  to  these  groups.  Just 
now  a  great  row  is  on  over  some  of  these  private  con- 
cession grants.  One  man,  Treadgold  by  name,  turns 
up  and  discovers  himself  to  be  possessed  of  an  exclu- 
sive blanket  grant  to  all  the  water  rights  of  the  Klon- 
dike Valley  and  its  affluent  creeks,  as  well  as  the 
exclusive  right  to  hold  and  work  all  gold-bearing  land 
not  already  occupied,  and  also  to  hold  and  have  every 
claim  already  staked,  or  worked,  which  for  any  rea- 
son may  lapse  to  the  crown  either  for  non-payment 
of  taxes  or  any  other  reason,  thus  shutting  out  the 
individual  miner  from  ever  staking  a  new  claim 
within  this  region  should  he  discover  the  gold,  and 
from  taking  up  any  lapsed  claim,  and  from  re-titling 
his  own  claim,  should  he  be  careless  and  neglect  to 
pay  his  annual  taxes  by  the  appointed  day ! 

Another  man,  named  Boyle,  also  appears  with  a 
similar  concession  covering  the  famous  Bonanza  and 
Eldorado  Creeks,  where  land  is  valued  by  the  inch, 
and  millions  beyond  count  have  in  these  few  years 
been  dug  out.  Such  flagrant  and  audacious  jobbery 
as  the  creation  and  granting  of  these  blanket  conces- 
sions in  the  quiet  of  Ottawa,  presents  to  the  world, 
has  probably  never  before  been  witnessed,  unless  it 
be  among  the  inner  circle  of  the  entourage  of  the  Rus- 


DOG  CORRAL — THE  FASTEST  TEAM  IN  DAWSOX. 


A  POTATO  PATCH   AT  DAWSOX. 


THE    GOLDEN    KLONDIKE.  149 

sian  Czar.  These  steals  have  been  so  bold  and 
unabashed  that  this  entire  mining  region  has  risen 
as  a  unit  in  angry  protest.  While  the  miner 
has  been  prospecting,  discovering,  freezing,  digging 
in  these  Arctic  solitudes,  the  snug,  smug  politician 
of  Ottawa  has  fixed  up  a  job  to  swipe  the  whole 
find  should  the  innocent,  ignorant  prospector  hap- 
pen to  make  one.  So  vigorous  has  been  the  protest 
against  these  daring  abuses  of  a  government  clique, 
that  this  summer  what  is  called  a  "Dominion  Royal 
Commission"  has  been  sent  here  to  investigate  the 
situation.  The  papers  are  full  of  the  matter.  The 
citizens  have  met  in  mass-meeting  and  unanimously 
joined  in  the  protest  against  the  concessions,  calling 
for  their  revocation,  and  Judge— "Justice" —  Britton, 
the  head  of  the  commission,  is  bitterly  denounced  as 
a  partisan  here  simply  on  a  whitewashing  trip  to  ex- 
culpate Laurier  and  his  friends.  And  the  result  of 
what  has  unquestionably  been  crooked  jobbery  at 
Ottawa  is  said  to  be  that  hundreds  of  prospectors 
and  miners  are  moving  out  of  the  Yukon  and  into 
Alaska,  where  they  say  "there  is  fair  play,"  and  a 
man  may  have  what  he  finds.  What  I  here  tell  you 
is  the  current  talk  in  Dawson— quite  unanimous  talk 
— and  I  should  like  to  have  heard  the  other  side,  if 
there  is  one. 

To-day  H and  I  have  been  across  the  river  to 

visit  a  characteristic  establishment  of  these  far  north- 
ern lands — a  summer  "dog  ranch" — a  place  where, 
during  the  summer  months,  the  teams  of  "Huskies" 


150  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

and  "Malamutes"  may  be  boarded  «and  cared  for  till 
the  working-time  of  winter  comes  again.  Here  are 
some  seventy-five  dogs  in  large  kennels  of  rough  tim- 
ber, each  team  of  six  dogs  having  its  own  private 
kennel,  with  a  large  central  yard  inside  the  tiers  of 
pens,  into  which  the  whole  pack  are  turned  once  a 
day  for  exercise.  We  hoped  to  find  the  proprietor  at 
home  and  induce  him  to  give  his  pets  a  scamper  in 
the  central  yard,  but  he  was  away.  The  only  visitors 
besides  ourselves  were  two  strange  dogs  which  stood 
outside,  running  up  and  down  the  line  and  arousing 
the  entire  seventy-five  to  one  great  chorus  of  barks 
and  howls.  Some  of  the  groups  of  dogs  were  superb. 
And  two  teams  of  Huskies — the  true  Esquimaux — 
must  have  been  worth  their  weight  in  gold— six  dogs 
— $1,000.00  at  the  very  least.  We  tried  to  get  some 
kodak  shots,  but  a  cloudy  sky  and  pine  log  bars  made 
the  result  doubtful. 

We  have  just  returned  from  an  evening  at  the  first 
annual  show  of  the  Dawson  or  Yukon  ' '  Horticultural 
Society."  The  name  itself  is  a  surprise;  the  display 
of  vegetables  particularly  and  flowers  astonished  me. 
The  biggest  beets  I  have  ever  seen,  the  meaty  sub- 
stance all  clear,  solid,  firm  and  juicy.  Potatoes,  Early 
Rose  and  other  varieties,  some  new  kinds  raised  from 
seed  in  three  years — large,  a  pound  or  more  in  size. 
And  such  cabbage,  cauliflower  and  lettuce  as  you 
never  saw  before !  Many  kinds,  full-headed  and 
able  to  compete  with  any  produced  anywhere.  All 
these  raised  in  the  open  air  on  the  rich,  black  bottom 


r. 
f 

ii 


THE    GOLDEN    KLONDIKE.  153 

and  bench  land  of  the  Yukon.  Squashes  and  also 
tomatoes,  but  these  latter,  some  of  them,  not  fully- 
ripened.  Also  a  display  of  fine  strawberries  just  now 
ripe.  We  bought  strawberries  in  the  markets  of  Cris- 
tiania  and  Stockholm  upon  the  12th  and  13th  of  Sep- 
tember, last  year,  and  now  we  find  a  superior  ripe 
fruit  here  at  just  about  the  same  degree  of  north 
latitude.  The  wild  currants,  blueberries  and  rasp- 
berries with  which  these  northern  latitudes  abound  are 
notorious.  And  the  show  of  oats,  rye,  barley,  wheat 
and  timothy  and  native  grasses,  as  well  as  of  red  and 
white  clover,  was  notable,  proving  beyond  a  doubt 
that  this  Yukon  region  is  capable  of  raising  varied 
and  nutritious  crops  necessary  for  man 's  food  and  for 
the  support  of  stock,  horses  and  cattle.  Already  a 
good  many  thrifty  mortals,  instead  of  losing  them- 
selves in  the  hunt  for  gold,  are  quietly  going  into  the 
raising  of  vegetables  and  hay  and  grain,  and  get  fab- 
ulous prices  for  what  grows  spontaneously  almost  in 
a  night.  And  the  show  of  flowers  grown  in  the  open 
air  would  have  delighted  you.  All  of  these  products 
of  the  soil  have  been  grown  in  sixty  or  seventy  days 
from  the  planting  of  the  seed,  the  almost  perpetual 
sunlight  of  the  summer  season  forcing  plant  life  to 
most  astonishing  growth. 

September  11th. 
Day  before  yesterday  I   took  the  six-horse  stage 
up  Bonanza  Creek  of  the  Klondike  and  rode  some 
thirteen  miles  over  the  fine  government  road  to  "Dis- 


154  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 

covery"  claim,  where  a  Cleveland  (O.)  company  is 
using  a  dredge  and  paying  the  Indian  "Skookum 
Jim,"  whose  house  we  saw  at  Caribou,  a  royalty  that 
this  year  will  place  $90,000.00  to  his  credit,  I  am  told. 
The  Klondike  is  a  large  stream,  about  like  Elk 
River  of  West  Virginia,  rising  two  hundred  miles 
eastward  in  the  Rockies,  where  the  summer's  melting 
snow  gives  it  a  large  flow  of  water.  The  valley  is  broad 
— a  mile  or  more.  The  hills  are  rolling  and  rounded, 
black  soil,  broad  flats  of  small  firs  and  birches.  Bo- 
nanza Creek,  on  which  Skookum  Jim  and  "Dawson 
Charlie"  and  the  white  man,  discovered  the  first  gold 
in  1897,  has  proved  the  richest  placer  mining  patch 
of  ground  the  world  has  ever  known.  For  a  length 
of  some  twenty  miles  it  is  occupied  by  the  several 
claim-holders,  who  are  working  both  in  the  creek  bed 
and  also  ancient  river  beds  high  up  on  the  rolling 
hill  slopes,  a  thing  never  known  before.  Here  the 
claims  are  larger  than  at  Atlin,  being  1,000  feet  wide 
and  250  feet  up  and  down  the  creek.  The  claim  where 
a  discovery  is  made  is  called  "Discovery  Claim,"  and 
the  others  are  named  "No.  1  above"  and  "No.  1  be- 
low," "No.  2  above"  and  "No.  2  below,"  etc.,  and 
so  entered  of  record.  I  had  seen  the  dredge  being 
built  on  Gold  Run  at  Atlin.  I  wished  to  see  one 
working  here.  I  found  a  young  American  named 
Elmer  in  charge,  and  he  showed  me  everything.  Then 
he  insisted  that  I  dine  with  him,  and  took  me  up  to 
his  snug  cottage,  where  I  was  cordially  greeted  by 
his  American  wife,  and  taken  to  the  mess  tent,  where 


DAILY  STAGE  ON  BONANZA. 


DISCOVERY   CLAIM   ON  BONANZA  OF 
THE  KLONDIKE. 


THE    GOLDEN    KLONDIKE.  157 

a  Japanese  cook  set  a  good  dinner  before  us.  Then 
Mrs.  Elmer  said  that  if  I  would  like  she  would  be 
delighted  to  drive  me  still  further  up  Bonanza,  and 
up  the  equally  famous  Eldorado  Fork,  and  show  me 
the  more  noted  claims.  Her  horse  was  a  good  one, 
and  for  nearly  three  hours  we  spanked  along.  At 
"16  Eldorado  below"  I  saw  the  yawning  gravel  pit 
from  which  $1,200,000  has  already  been  taken  out  by 
the  lucky  owner.  From  "28  Eldorado  above"  I  saw 
where  the  pay  gravel  yielded  another  enormous  sum. 
And  all  along  men  were  still  digging,  dumping, 
sluicing  and  getting  gold.  At  "18  Bonanza  above," 
yet  another  particularly  rich  strike  was  shown  me, 
and  at  "28  Bonanza  above, "  working  in  the  mud  and 
gravel,  were  men  already  enormously  rich,  who  in 
1897  owned  nothing  but  their  outfit.  And  up  along 
the  hillsides,  too,  near  the  tops,  were  other  gashes  in 
the  gravel  soil  where  gold  in  equally  fabulous  sums 
has  been  taken  out  and  is  still  being  got,  for  all  these 
rich  sands  are  yet  far  from  being  worked  out  or  ex- 
hausted. The  first  mad  rush  is  over.  Men  do  not  now 
merely  pick  out  the  big  nuggets,  but  are  putting  in 
improved  machinery  and  saving  the  finer  dust.  Along 
the  roadside  we  also  saw  many  men  digging  and 
"rocking"  for  gold,  who  have  leased  a  few  square 
yards  or  an  acre  or  two  on  a  royalty  and  who  are 
said  to  be  "  working  a  lay. ' '  After  our  drive,  I  caught 
the  returning  stage  and  came  home  in  the  long  twi- 
light. 


158  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

To-day  I  have  staged  again  twenty  miles  on  to 
the  famous  Hunker  Creek,  and  then  been  driven  fur- 
ther and  home  again  by  Mr.  Orr,  the  owner  of  the 
stage  line,  behind  a  team  of  swift  bays,  over  another 
fine  government  highway.  I  have  looked  at  more 
machinery,  steam  shovels,  hoist  and  labor-saving  ap- 
paratus, and  seen  more  millions  already  made  and  in 
the  making.  The  present  and  potential  wealth  of  this 
country  almost  stupifies  one,  and  dollars  fall  into 
the  insignificance  of  dimes.  The  traffic  on  these  fine 
roads  is  also  surprising.  Substantial  log  "road 
houses,"  or  inns,  every  mile  or  so,  and  frequently  at 
even  shorter  intervals,  very  many  foot-farers  travel: 
ing  from  place  to  place.  Young  men  with  strong,, 
resolute  faces;  bicycle  riders  trundling  a  pack 
strapped  to  their  handle-bars,  and  many  six  and 
eight  span  teams  of  big  mules  and  big  horses  hauling 
immense  loads — sometimes  two  great  broad-tired  wa- 
gons chained  together  in  a  train.  Ten  or  twelve  four 
and  six  horse  stages  leave  Dawson  every  day,  and  as 
many  come  in,  carrying  passengers  and  mails  to  and 
from  the  many  mining  camps.  In  my  stage  to-day 
behind  me  sat  two  Mormons,  a  man  and  a  woman, 
who  had  never  met  before,  from  Utah,  and  a  Avoman 
from  South  Africa,  the  wife  of  an  expatriated  Boer; 
a  Swede  who  was  getting  rich  and  a  French  Canadian. 
My  host  at  dinner  was  from  Montreal,  a  black-eyed, 
bulldog-jawed  "habitan,"  whose  heart  warmed  to  me 
when  I  told  him  that  my  great  grandmother,  too,  was 
French  from  Quebec,  and  who  thereupon  walked  me 


LOOKING  IP  THE  KLONDIKE  RIVER. 


THE  AUTHOR  AT  WHITE  HORSE  RAPIDS. 


'MES  EXFANTS"  MALAMUTE  PUPS. 


A  KLONDIKE  CABIN. 


THE    GOLDEN    KLONDIKE.  163 

out  to  the  barn  to  see  his  eleven  Malamute  pups,  and 
afterward  insisted  that  I  take  a  free  drink  at  his  bar. 
I  took  a  kodak  of  him  with  "mes  enfants,"  and  prom- 
ised to  send  him  a  copy  of  the  same. 

To-night  I  ventured  out  to  try  again  the  restaurant 
of  our  first  adventure.  Sitting  at  a  little  table,  I 
was  soon  joined  by  three  bright-looking  men — one  a 
"barrister,"  one  a  mining  engineer,  one  a  reporter. 
Result  (1),  an  interview;  (2),  a  pass  to  the  fair;  (3), 
my  dinner  paid  for,  a  50-cent  Havana  cigar  thrust 
upon  me,  and  (4)  myself  carried  off  to  the  said  fair 
by  two  of  its  directors,  and  again  shown  its  fine  dis- 
play of  fruits  and  grains  and  flowers  and  all  its 
special  attractions  by  the  management  itself.  In  fact, 
the  Dawsonite  can  not  do  too  much  for  the  stranger 
sojourning  in  his  midst. 

Mercury  26  to  28  degrees  every  morning. 

Before  arriving  in  Dawson  a  big,  rugged,  govern- 
ment official  had  said  to  me,  ' '  Go  to  the  hotel 

and  give  my  love  to  Mrs. .    She  has  a  red  head 

and  a  rich  heart.  She  has  cheered  more  stricken  men 
than  any  woman  in  the  Yukon.  She  mushed  through 
with  her  husband  with  the  first  'sourdoughs'  over 
the  ice  passes  in  '97.  She  was  a  streak  of  sunshine 
amidst  the  perils  and  heartaches  of  that  terrible  hu- 
man treek.  She  runs  the  only  hotel  worth  going  to 
in  Dawson.  You  will  be  lucky  to  get  into  it.  Give 
her  our  love,  the  love  of  all  of  us.  Tell  her  you're 
our  friends,  and  maybe  she  will  take  you  in."     So 


164  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

we  were  curious  about  this  woman  who  had  dared  so 
much,  who  had  done  so  much,  who  was  yet  mistress 
of  the  hearts  of  the  rough,  strong  men  of  the  Yukon. 
We  went  to  her  hotel.  We  asked  to  see  her.  We 
were  shown  into  a  cosy,  well-furnished  parlor.  We 
might  just  as  well  have  been  in  a  home  in  Kanawha 
or  New  York.  We  heard  some  orders  given  in  a  firm, 
low-pitched  voice,  a  quick  step,  Mrs.  was  be- 
fore us.  An  agreeable  presence,  dignity,  reserve, 
force.  Tall,  very  tall,  but  so  well  poised  and  pro- 
portioned you  didn't  notice  it.  A  head  broad 
browed  and  finely  set  on  neck  and  shoulders.  Yes, 
the  hair  was  red,  Venetian  red  with  a  glimmer  of 
sunshine  in  it.  I  delivered  the  message  straight. 
She  received  it  coolly.  "The  house  was  full,  but  she 
would  have  place  for  us  before  night.  A  party  would 
leave  on  the  4  p.  m.  stage  for  Dominion  Creek.  We 
should  have  his  room.  Dinner  would  be  served  at 
seven."  The  chamber  was  given  us  in  due  time. 
Plainly  furnished,  but  comfortable.  The  hotel  is  an 
immense  log  house,  chinked  with  moss  and  plaster, 
and  paper  lined,  and  all  the  partitions  between  the 
rooms  are  also  paper.  But  we  are  learning  to  talk  in 
low  voices,  and,  between  a  little  French  and  German 
and  Danish,  H.  and'  I  manage  to  keep  our  secrets  to 
ourselves,  although  of  the  private  affairs  of  all  the 
other  guests  we  shall  soon  be  apprised. 

The  dining-room  is  large,  the  whole  width  of  the 
house,  in  the  center  a  huge  furnace  stove  from  which 


THE    GOLDEN   KLONDIKE.  165 

radiate  many  large,  hot  pipes,  where  iu  the  long  win- 
ter night-time  is  kept  up  a  furious  fire,  and  a  cord 
of  wood  is  burned  each  day — and  wood  at  $25  to  $50 
per  cord !  The  guests  sit  at  many  little  tables.  The 
linen  is  spotless.  The  china  good  English  ware.  The 
fare  is  delicious.  The  cook  is  paid  $300  per  month, 
the  maids  $125,  with  board  thrown  in.  Delicate  ba- 
con from  Chicago.  Fresh  eggs  from  Iowa.  Chickens 
from  Oregon — no  live  chickens  in  Dawson.  The  first 
mushers  brought  in  a  few,  but  the  hawks  and  owls, 
the  foxes  and  minks  and  other  varments  devoured 
many  of  them,  and  the  surviving  ones,  after  waiting 
around  a  week  or  two  for  the  sun  to  set,  went  cack- 
ling crazy  for  lack  of  sleep,  and  died  of  shattered 
nerves.  Caribou  steak  and  tenderloin  of  moose  we 
have  at  every  meal.  And  to-day  wild  duck  and  cur- 
rant jelly.  The  ducks  abound  along  the  river,  the 
currants  grow  wild  all  over  the  mountain  slopes.  And 
such  celery  and  lettuce  and  radishes  and  cabbage ! 
Potatoes,  big  and  mealy,  and  turnips,  and  carrots,  del- 
icate and  crisp,  all  grown  in  the  local  gardens  round 
about.  Cabbage  here  sells  at  a  dollar  a  head  and  let- 
tuce at  almost  as  much.  But  you  never  ate  the  like. 
White  and  hard  as  celery,  so  quickly  do  they  grow 
in  the  nightless  days !  Nowhere  in  all  the  world  can 
you  live  so  well  as  in  Dawson,  live  if  only  you  have 
the  "stuff."  Live  if  you  can  pay.  We  follow  the 
habit  of  the  land  and  pay  up  in  full  after  each  meal. 
It  is  dangerous  to  trust  the  stranger  for  his  board. 


166  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

It  is  well  for  us  we  hold  fast  to  this  custom,  else  we 
might  not  be  able  to  leave  the  town — a  regulation  of 
the  government  of  the  city — no  man  may  leave  with 
bills  unpaid.  So  long  as  he  owes  even  a  single  dollar, 
he  must  remain!  And  the  N.  W.  M.  P.  watch  the 
boats,  the  river  and  the  mountain  passes  and  enforce 
tli is  law. 

Our  hostess  takes  good  care  of  her  guests.  Very 
many  young  men  working  for  the  larger  commercial 
companies  board  here;  all,  who  are  allowed,  come  for 
transient  meals.  And  those  who  are  homesick  and 
down  in  spirit  come  just  for  the  sake  of  neighborship 
to  the  tall,  well-gowned  woman  whose  invariable  tact 
and  sympathy,  and  often  motherly  tenderness,  has 
given  new  heart  to  many  a  lonely  "chechaqua"  (ten- 
derfoot), so  far  away  from  home ! 

In  this  dining-room,  too,  one  sees  a  type  not  so 
often  now  met  in  our  own  great  country,  but  inherent 
to  English  methods.  The  permanent  Chief  Clerk. 
The  man  whose  career  is  to  be  forever  a  book-keeper 
or  a  clerk,  whose  highest  ambition  is  to  be  a  book- 
keeper or  a  clerk  just  all  his  life,  and  who  will  be 
trusted  with  the  highest  subordinate  positions,  but 
will  never  be  made  a  partner,  however  much  he  may 
merit  it.  London  is  filled  with  such.  The  offices  of 
the  great  British  Commercial  companies  are  full  of 
such  the  world  round.  Men  who  know  their  business 
and  attend  to  it  faithfully,  and  whose  lives  are  a 
round  of  precise  routine.     Such  men  sit  at  tables 


THE   GOLDEN  KLONDIKE.  107 

all  about  us.  In  London  every  morning  the  Times  or 
Daily  Telegraph  is  laid  at  their  plates.  Here  the 
Yukon  Sun  or  Dawson  Times  is  laid  before  them  just 
the  same,  and  they  gravely  read  the  news  of  the 
world,  while  they  sip  their  tea  and  munch  their  cold 
toast,  just  as  though  they  were  "at  home."  And 
they  walk  in  and  out  with  the  same  stoop-shouldered 
shuffle  gait  one  sees  along  the  Strand  or  Bishopsgate 
Street  within,  or  Mansionhouse  Square. 

Our  hostess  greets  each  guest  as  he  enters,  and 
walks  about  among  them  and  says  a  cheery  word  to 
every  one  One,  on  her  left,  has  just  now  been  read- 
ing to  her  from  a  letter  which  tells  of  his  mother  in 
England,  and,  I  surmise,  hints  of  a  waiting  sweet- 
heart; and  another,  an  Australian,  who  is  just  going 
away  on  a  prospecting  trip  far  up  the  Stuart  River, 
is  telling  her  what  to  write  home  for  him  in  case  he 
shall  never  come  back. 

The  two   other  chief  objects  of  interest  in  this 

dining-room,    besides    Mrs.    ,    are— her    small 

boy  of  six,  who  is  being  greatly  praised  this  morning 
by  all  the  company — he  has  just  licked  the  big  boy 
across  the  street,  who  for  a  week  or  two  has  tried 
to  bully  him,  on  account  of  which  feat  his  mother  is 
immensely  proud — and  a  wonderful  grey  and  white 
cat  that  sits  up  and  begs  just  like  a  prairie  dog  or  a 
gopher.  When  a  kitten,  pussy  must  have  gone  out 
and  played  with  some  of  the  millions  of  gophers  that 
inhabit  every  hillside,  and  learned  from  them  how 


168  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

to  properly  sit  up.  She  visits  each  guest  every  morn- 
ing and  sits  up  and  folds  her  paws  across  her  breast 
and  mews  so  plaintively  that  no  hand  can  forbear 
giving  her  a  tidbit. 

"We  were  among  the  first.  We  came  up  from  San 
Francisco  in  a  waterlogged  schooner  through  the 
wash  of  ice  and  winter  gales  to  Dyea,  and  then 
mushed  over  Chilkoot  Pass  on  snowshoes  with  the 
dogs.  I  shouldered  my  pack  like  the  men.  And 
John — John  would  have  backed  out  or  died  of  weari- 
ness, if  I  hadn't  told  him  that  if  he  quit,  I  should 
come  on  in  just  all  the  same.  Yes!  I  carried  my 
gun — I  didn't  have  to  use  it  but  once  or  twice.  Yes! 
We've  done  very  wTell  in  Dawson,  very  well  in  the 
Klondike,  very  well!"  And  a  big  diamond  glinted 
as  though  to  reenforce  the  remark.  She  spoke  rap- 
idly, though  easily,  in  crisp,  curt  sentences,  and  you 
felt  she  had  indeed  "mushed"  in,  that  frightful  win- 
ter, over  those  perilous  snow  and  ice  passes,  -just  sure 
enough !  As  I  looked  into  her  wide-open,  brown  eyes, 
I  felt  that  I  beheld  there  that  spirit  which  I  have 
everywhere  noted  in  the  keen  faces  of  the  men  and 
women  of  the  Yukon,  the  yet  living  spirit  of  the 
great  West,  of  the  West  of  half  a  century  ago;  of 
Virginia  and  New  England  two  hundred  years  ago; 
the  spirit  which  drove  Drake  and  Frobisher  and  Cap- 
tain Cook  and  their  daring  mariners  out  from  the 
little  islands  of  our  motherland  to  possess  and  domi- 
nate the  earth's  mysterious  and  uncharted  seas;  the 


THE    GOLDEN   KLONDIKE.  169 

spirit  which  still  makes  the  name  American  stand  for 
energy  and  power  and  accomplishment  in  all  the 
world;  the  spirit,  shall  I  say,  which  gives  the  future 
of  the  earth  to  the  yet  virile  Anglo-Saxon  race. 


170  IN    TO    THfl    YUKON. 


NINTH  LETTER. 

MEN    OF    THE   KLONDIKE. 

Yukon  Territory,  Canada,  September  18,  1903. 

We  lingered  in  Dawson  a  week  waiting  for  the 
steamers  "Sarah"  or  "Louise"  or  "Cudahy"  to  come 
up  from  the  lower  river,  and  though  always  "com- 
ing, ' '  they  never  came.  Meantime  the  days  had  begun 
to  visibly  shorten,  the  frosts  left  thicker  rime  on  roof 
and  road  each  morning.  ' '  Three  weeks  till  the  freeze- 
up,"  men  said,  and  we  concluded  that  so  late  was  now 
the  season  that  we  had  best  not  chance  a  winter  on  a 
sand-bar  in  the  wide  and  shallow  lower  Yukon,  and 
a  nasty  time  with  fogs  and  floe  ice  in  Behring  Sea. 
So  on  Wednesday,  the  16th,  we  again  took  the  fin<> 
steamer  "White  Horse,"  and  are  now  two  days  up  the 
river  on  our  way.  We  will  reach  White  Horse  Sun- 
day morning,  stay  there  till  Monday  morning,  when 
we  will  take  the  little  railway  to  Skagway,  then  the 
ocean  coaster  to  Seattle  and  the  land  of  dimes  and 
nickels.  We  regret  not  having  been  able  to  go  down 
to  St.  Michael  and  Nome,  and  to  see  the  whole  great 
Yukon.  My  heart  was  quite  set  on  it,  and  the  ex- 
pense was  about  the  same  as  the  route  we  now  take, 
but  to  do  so  we  should  have  had  to  take  too  great 
risks  at  this  late  season. 

While  lingering  in  Dawson  we  were  able  to  se*1 
more  of  the  interests  of  the  community.    One  day  we 


MEN    OP    THE    KLONDIKE.  171 

called  on  a  quite  notable  figure,  a,  or  rather  the,  Dr. 
Grant  of  St.  Andrews  Hospital,  M.  D.,  and  of  St. 
Andrews  great  church,  D.  D. !  A  Canadian  Scotch- 
man of,  say,  thirty-five  years,  who,  although  a  man  of 
independent  fortune,  chose  the  wild  life  of  the  border 
just  from  the  very  joy  of  buffet  and  conquest.  He 
''mushed"  it  in  1897  over  the  Chilkoot  Pass.  He 
built  little  churches  and  hospitals  all  in  one,  and  be- 
came the  helper  of  thousands  whom  the  perils  and 
stresses  of  the  great  trek  quite  overcame.  So  now  he 
is  a  power  in  Dawson.  A  large  and  perfectly  equipped 
hospital,  his  creation,  has  been  endowed  by  the  gov- 
ernment ;  a  fine,  modern  church  holding  six  hundred ; 
a  pretty  manse  and  big  mission  school  buildings  of 
logs.  All  these  standing  in  a  green  turfed  enclosure 
of  two  or  three  acres.  The  church  cost  $60,000.  He 
preaches  Sundays  to  a  packed  house.  He  is  chief  sur- 
geon of  the  hospital  during  the  rest  of  the  time.  He 
gives  away  his  salary,  and  the  men  of  these  min- 
ing camps,  who  know  a  real  man  when  they  see  him, 
can 't  respond  too  liberally  to  the  call  of  the  preacher- 
surgeon  who  generally  saves  their  bodies  and  some- 
times their  souls.  I  found  him  a  most  interesting 
man— a  naturalist,  a  scientific  man,  a  man  of  the 
world  and  who  independently  expounds  a  Presbyte- 
rian cult  rather  of  the  Lyman  Abbott  type.  He 
showed  us  all  through  the  hospitals;  many  surgical 
accident  cases;  very  few  fevers  or  sickness.  The 
church,  too,  we  inspected;  all  fittings  within  modern 
and  up  to  date;  a  fine  organ,  the  freight  on  which 


172  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

alone  was  $5,000,  40  per  cent,  of  its  cost;  a  fur- 
nace that  warmed  the  building  even  at  80  below 
zero,  and  a  congregation  of  400  to  500  people,  better 
dressed  (the  night  we  attended)  than  would  be  a  simi- 
lar number  in  New  York.  There  are  no  old  clothes 
among  the  well-to-do;  gold  buys  the  latest  styles  and 
disdains  the  cost.  There  are  few  old  clothes  among 
the  poor,  for  the  poor  are  very  few.  So  as  I  looked 
upon  the  congregation  before  Dr.  Grant,  I  might  as 
well  have  been  in  New  York  but  for  a  pew  full  of  red 
coats  of  "N.  W.  M.  P."  (North  West  Mounted  Po- 
lice). 

The  succeeding  day  Dr.  Grant  called  upon  us,  and 
escorted  us  through  the  military  establishment  that 
polices  and  also  governs  the  Yukon  territory  as  well 
as  the  whole  Canadian  Northwest.  Barracks  for  250 
men,  storerooms,  armory,  horse  barn,  dog  kennel — 150 
dogs — jail,  mad-house  and  courtrooms.  The  execu- 
tive and  judicial  departments  all  under  one  hand  and 
even  the  civil  rule  as  well.  Everywhere  evidence  of 
the  cold  and  protection  against  it.  A  whole  room  full 
of  splendid  fur  coats,  parquets,  with  great  fur  hoods. 
Such  garments  as  even  an  Esquimaux  would  rejoice  in. 

Later,  we  attended  the  fine  public  school,  where  are 
over  250  children  in  attendance ;  all  equipment  the 
latest  and  up  to  date;  kindergarten  department  and 
grades  to  the  top,  the  teachers  carefully  picked  from 
eastern  Canada.  The  positions  are  much  sought  for 
by  reason  of  unusually  high  salaries  paid.  The  new 
principal  had  just  come  from  Toronto.     He  told  us 


MEN    OF    THE    KLONDIKE.  173 

that  these  were  the  brightest,  most  alert  children  he 
had  ever  taught.  Keen  faces,  good  chins,  inheriting 
the  aggressive  initiative  of  the  parents  who  had  dared 
to  come  so  far.  In  the  kindergarten  a  little  colored 
boy  sat  among  his  white  mates.  In  Canada,  like  Mex- 
ico, there  is  no  color  line. 

It  now  takes  us  four  days  to  creep  up  the  river 
against  the  strong  current  and  through  the  many 
shallows  to  White  Horse.  On  the  boat  there  are  all 
sorts.  I  have  met  a  number  o*f  quaint  figures.  One 
a  French  Canadian  trapper,  on  his  way  to  a  winter 
camp  on  McMillan  Creek  of  the  Pelly  River.  He  will 
have  three  or  more  cabins  along  a  route  where  he  will 
set  his  traps.  About  two  hundred  he  keeps  a-going, 
and  sees  as  many  of  them  as  he  can  each  day.  Mink 
and  marten  and  otter  and  beaver,  as  well  as  wolves 
and  foxes,  lynx  and  bears.  For  meat  he  prefers 
caribou  to  moose.  For  many  years  he  trapped  for 
the  "H.  B.  C."  (Hudson  Bay  Company)  over  east  of 
the  Rockies.  But  they  paid  him  almost  nothing  and 
there  were  no  other  buyers.  Now  he  sells  to  Dawson 
merchants  and  gets  $6.00  for  a  marten  skin  "all 
through" — the  whole  lot.  The  fur  merchant  in  Vic- 
toria asked  $30.00  for  just  such,  and  said  we  might 
buy  them  as  low  as  $10.00  in  the  Yukon  country,  so 
he  had  heard.  Another  man  to-day  has  sat  on  the 
wood-pile  with  me  and  told  me  of  the  great  North — 
a  man  with  a  well-shaped  face,  who  used  language  of 
the  educated  sort,  yet  dressed  in  the  roughest  canvas, 
and  who  is  raising  hay  here  along  the  Yukon  which 


174  IN    TO   THE   YUKON 

he  "sells  at.  three  cents  a  pound  in  Dawson,  or  one 
cent  a  pound  in  the  stack,"  wild,  native  hay  at  that. 
And  he  had  "mushed"  and  "voyaged"  all  through 
the  far  north.  He  had  set  out  from  Edmonton,  he 
and  his  "pardner,"  and  driven  to  "Athabasca  land- 
ing" in  their  farm  wagon,  three  or  four  hun- 
dred miles  over  the  "Government  road;"  had  passed 
through  the  beautiful,  wide,  gently  sloping  valley  of 
the  Peace  River,  and  through  the  well-timbered  re- 
gions north  of  the  Peace.  At  Athabasca  landing  they 
had  sold  the  wagon  and  built  a  stout  flatboat,  and  in 
this  had  floated  down  some  three  hundred  miles  to 
Athabasca  Lake,  Indian  pilots  having  taken  them 
through  the  more  dangerous  rapids.  The  Athabasca 
River  enters  the  lake  among  swamps  and  low,  willowy 
spits  of  land,  where  grows  wild  hay  and  ducks  abound, 
and  the  "Great  Slave"  River  flows  out  of  it  into  the 
body  of  water  of  that  name.  These  two  rivers  enter 
and  depart  near  together,  and  the  voyager  escapes 
the  dangers  of  a  journey  on  the  great  and  shallow 
Athabasca,  where  the  surf  is  most  dangerous.  Three 
or  four  hundred  miles  of  a  yet  greater  river,  with 
many  rapids  through  which  you  are  guided  by 
Indian  pilots,  who  live  near  the  dangerous  waters, 
carry  you  into  the  Great  Slave  Lake,  the  largest 
body  of  fresh  water  in  Canada.  Steamboats  of  the 
Hudson  Bay  Company  run  upon  it  and  ply  upon 
the  inflowing  rivers,  and  even  go  up  and  down 
the  McKenzie  to  Herschell  Island  at  its  mouth, 
and  where  the  "N.  W.  M.  P."  have  a  post,  chiefly 


ON  THE  YUKON. 


FLOATING   DOWN   THE  YUKON. 


MEN    OF    THE    KLONDIKE.  177 

lo  protect  the  natives  from  the  whalers  who  gather 
there  to  trade  and  smuggle  in  dutiable  goods. 
The  McKenzie  is  greater  than  the  Yukon,  is  wider 
and  much  deeper  and  carries  a  much  greater  volume 
of  water.  Great  Slave  Lake,  while  shallow  and  flat 
toward  the  eastern  end,  is  deep  and  bounded  by  great 
cliffs  and  rocks  on  the  west.  Storms  rage  upon  it,  and 
at  all  times  the  voyagers  count  it  dangerous  water. 
Both  it  and  Athabasca  are  full  of  fish,  so,  too,  the 
adjacent  rivers  and  the  McKenzie.  Floating  down 
the  McKenzie,  passing  the  mouth  of  the  Nelson  River, 
they  came  at  last  to  the  Liard,  and  up  this  they  canoed 
to  within  half  a  mile  of  the  waters  of  the  Pelly,  down 
which  they  floated  to  the  Yukon.  The  French  trapper 
had  also  "come  in"  by  this  route.  "Two  seasons  it 
takes,"  he  said,  "an  easy  trip,"  and  you  can  winter 
quite  comfortably  in  the  mountains.  East  of  the 
mountains  there  is  much  big  game,  "plenta  big 
game;"  musk  ox  are  there,  and  moose  and  caribou. 
But  the  Indians  and  wolves  kill  too  many  of  them. 
The  Indians  catch  the  caribou  on  the  ice  and  kill  them 
for  their  tongues.  ' '  Smoked  caribou  tongue  mighta 
nice."  They  leave  the  carcasses  where  they  fall,  and 
then  come  the  foxes  for  the  feast.  ' '  Thousands  of  fox, 
red  fox,  silver  fox,  black  fox,  white  fox.  Mr.  Fox  he 
eat  caribou,  he  forget  Indian — Indian  set  the  trap  and 
fox  he  caught.  The  wolf,  too,  he  creep  up  upon  the 
caribou,  even  upon  the  moose  when  he  alone,  when 
he  lying  down;  the  wolf  he  bites  the  hamstring.  He 
kill  many  moose.     That  a  grand  country  for  to  trap, 


178  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

but  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  it  pay  nothing  for  the 
fur.  A  sack  of  flour  I  see  them  give  one  Indian  for  a 
black  fox.  Now  since  Hudson  Bay  lose  his  exclusive 
right,  no  man  trade  with  him  or  sell  him  fur  except 
he  must  for  food." 

We  have  just  passed  a  little  log  cabin  beneath  great 
firs  and  amidst  a  cluster  of  golden  aspen.  Its  door 
and  solitary  window  are  wide  open.  No  one  occupies 
it,  or  ever  will.  Wild  things  may  live  in  it,  but  not 
man.  Near  the  cabin,  where  the  Yukon  makes  a  great 
sweeping  bend,  and  the  swift  water  purls  round  into 
bubbling  eddies,  a  narrow  trail  cut  from  the  river 
bank  leads  up  among  the  trees.  The  dweller  in  the 
cabin  could  see  far  up  the  great  river;  he  could  espy 
the  raft  or  skiff  or  barge  descending  and  mark  its 
occupants;  then  he  used  to  take  his  trusty  rifle,  step 
across  to  the  opening  in  the  trees  at  the  point,  and 
pick  off  his  victims.  Sometimes  their  bodies  fell  into 
the  deep,  cold,  swift-running  waters.  The  wolves  and 
foxes  picked  their  bones  on  the  bars  below.  Some- 
times he  captured  the  body  as  well  as  the  outfit,  and 
sunk  and  buried  them  at  leisure.  The  pictures  of  the 
three  last  men  he  murdered  hang  in  the  office  of  the 
chief  of  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police,  at  Dawson, 
beside  his  own.  It  took  three  years  to  gather  the  com- 
plete chain  of  circumstantial  evidence,  but  at  last  they 
hanged  him,  two  years  ago.  In  the  beginning  there 
were  many  other  crimes  quite  as  atrocious  committed 
in  this  vast  region  of  the  unknown  north,  but  soon 
the  efficiency  and  systematic  vigilance  of  the  North- 


MEN    OP    THE    KLONDIKE.  179 

west  Mounted  Police  broke  up  forever  the  bandits  and 
thugs  who  had  crowded  in  here  from  all  the  earth, 
and  Uncle  Sam's  dominion  in  particular.  Many  were 
hanged,  many  sent  up  for  long  terms,  many  run 
out.  Life  sentences  were  common  for  robbery.  To- 
day the  Yukon  country  is  more  free  from  crime  than 
West  Virginia,  and  Dawson  more  orderly  than 
Charleston. 


180  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 


TENTH  LETTER. 

DOG  LORE  OF  THE  NORTH. 
White  Horse,  Sunday,  September  20,  1903. 
We  arrived  about  nine  o'clock  this  morning.  The 
voyage  up  the  Yukon  from  Dawson  has  taken  us  since 
Wednesday  at  2:30,  when  we  cast  off  and  stemmed 
the  swift  waters — twenty-four  hours  longer  than  going 
down.  During  the  week  of  our  stay  at  Dawson  the 
days  grew  perceptibly  shorter  and  the  nights  colder. 
There  is  no  autumn  in  this  land.  Two  weeks  ago  the 
foliage  had  just  begun  to  turn;  a  week  ago  the 
aspens  and  birches  were  showing  a  golden  yellow,  but 
the  willows  and  alders  were  yet  green.  Now  every 
leaf  is  saffron  and  golden — gamboge — and  red.  In  a 
week  or  more  they  will  have  mostly  fallen.  As  yet  the 
waters  of  the  Yukon  and  affluent  rivers  show  no  ice. 
In  three  weeks  they  are  expected  to  be  frozen  stiff, 
and  so  remain  until  the  ice  goes  out  next  June.  The 
seasons  of  this  land  are  said  to  be  "  Winter  and  June, 
July  and  August. "  To  me  it  seems  inconceivable  that 
the  Arctic  frosts  should  descend  so  precipitately.  But 
on  every  hand  there  is  evident  preparation  for  the 
cold,  the  profound  cold.  Double  windows  and  doors 
are  being  fastened  on.  Immense  piles  of  sawed  and 
cut  firewood  are  being  stored  close  at  hand.  Sleighs 
and  especially  sledges  are  being  painted  and  put  in 


APPROACHING   SEATTLE. 


WITH  AND  WITHOUT. 


DOG    LOBE    OF    THE    NORTH.  183 

order;  the  dogs  which  have  run  wild,  and  mostly  for- 
aged for  themselves  during  the  summer,  are  being  dis- 
covered, captured  and  led  off  by  strings  and  straps 
and  wires  about  their  necks.  Men  are  buying  new 
dogs,  and  the  holiday  of  dogkind  is  evidently  close  at 
an  end.  Women  are  already  wearing  some  of  their 
furs.  Ice  half  to  a  full  inch  forms  every  night,  and 
yesterday  we  passed  through  our  first  snow  storm,  and 
all  the  mountains  round  about,  and  even  the  higher 
hills,  are  to-day  glistening  in  mantles  of  new,  fresh, 
soft-looking  snow.  The  steamers  of  the  White  Pass 
and  Yukon  Railway  Company  will  be  laid  up  in  three 
weeks  now,  they  tell  us,  and  already  the  sleighs  and 
teams  for  the  overland  stage  route  are  being  gathered, 
the  stage  houses  at  twenty-four-mile  intervals  being 
set  in  order,  and  the  "Government  road"  being  pre- 
pared afresh  for  the  transmission  of  mails  and  pas- 
sengers. 

We  have  just  seen  some  of  the  magnificent  Lab- 
rador dogs,  with  their  keeper,  passing  along  the  street, 
owned  by  the  Government  post  here — immense  ani- 
mals, as  big  as  big  calves,  heifers,  yearlings,  I  might 
say.  They  take  the  mails  to  outlying  posts  and  even 
to  Dawson  when  too  cold  for  the  horses — horses  are 
not  driven  when  the  thermometer  is  more  than  40 
degrees  below! 

As  I  sat  in  the  forward  cabin  the  other  night 
watching  the  motley  crowd  we  were  taking  "out," 
two  bright  young  fellows,  who  turned  out  to  be  "Gov- 
ernment dog-drivers"  going  to  the  post  here  to  report 


184  IN    T0    THE    YUKON. 

for  winter  duty,  fell  into  animated  discussion  of  their 
business,  and  told  me  much  dog  lore.  The  big,  well- 
furred,  long-legged  "Labrador  Huskies"  are  the 
most  powerful  as  well  as  fiercest.  A  load  of  150 
pounds  per  dog  is  the  usual  burden,  and  seven  to  nine 
dogs  attached  each  by  a  separate  trace — the  Lab- 
rador harness  is  used  with  them,  so  the  dogs  spread 
out  fan-shaped  from  the  sledge  and  do  not  interfere 
with  each  other.  The  great  care  of  the  driver  is  to 
maintain  discipline,  keep  the  dogs  from  shirking, 
from  tangling  up,  and  from  attacking  himself  or  each 
other.  He  carries  a  club  and  a  seal-hide  whip,  and 
uses  each  unmercifully.  If  they  think  you  afraid, 
the  dogs  will  attack  you  instantly,  and  would  easily 
kill  you.  And  they  incessantly  attack  each  other,  and 
the  whole  pack  will  always  pounce  on  the  under  dog 
so  as  to  surely  be  in  at  a  killing,  just  for  the  fun  of 
it,  ripping  up  the  unfortunate  and  lapping  his  blood 
eagerly,  though  they  rarely  eat  him.  And  as  these 
dogs  are  worth  anywhere  from  $100  up,  the  driver 
has  much  ado  to  prevent  the  self-destruction  of  his 
team.  And  to  club  them  till  you  stun  them  is  the 
only  way  to  stop  their  quarrels.  Then,  too,  the  dogs 
are  clever  and  delight  to  spill  the  driver  and  gallop 
away  from  him,  when  he  can  rarely  catch  them  until 
they  draw  up  at  the  next  post  house,  and  it  may  be 
ten  or  twelve  or  thirty  miles  to  that,  unless  it  be  that 
they  get  tangled  among  the  trees  or  brush,  when  the 
driver  will  find  them  fast  asleep,  curled  up  in  the 
snow,  where  each  burrows  out  a  cozy  bed.    The  Mala- 


DOG  LORE  OF  THE  NORTH.  185 

mutes,  or  native  Indian  dog,  usually  half  wolf,  are 
driven  and  harnessed  differently — all  in  a  line — and 
one  before  the  other.  They  are  shorter  haired,  faster, 
and  infinitely  meaner  than  the  long-haired  Huskie 
(of  which  sort  the  Labrador  dogs  are).  Their  de- 
light is  to  get  into  a  fight  and  become  tangled,  and 
the  only  way  out  is  to  club  them  into  insensibility, 
and  cut  the  leather  harness,  or  they  will  cut  the  seal- 
hide  thongs  themselves  at  a  single  bite  if  they  are 
quite  sure  your  long  plaited  whip  will  not  crack  them 
before  they  can  do  it.  These  Malamutes  .  are  the 
usual  dogs  driven  in  this  country,  for  few  there  are 
to  afford  or  know  how  to  handle  the  more  powerful 
Labrador  Huskie.  And  the  Malamute  is  the  king  of 
all  thieves.  He  will  pull  the  leather  boots  off  your 
feet  while  you  sleep  and  eat  them  for  a  midnight 
supper;  he  delights  to  eat  up  his  seal-hide  harness; 
he  has  learned  to  open  a  wooden  box  and  will  devour 
canned  food,  opening  any  tin  can  made,  with  his 
sharp  fangs,  quicker  than  a  steel  can-opener.  Canned 
tomatoes,  fruit,  vegetables,  sardines,  anything  that 
man  may  put  in,  he  will  deftly  take  out.  Even  the 
tarpaulins  and  leather  coverings  of  the  goods  he  may 
be  pulling,  he  will  rip  to  pieces,  and  he  will  devour 
the  load  unless  watched  with  incessant  vigilance  night 
and  day.  Yet,  with  all  their  wolfish  greed  and  man- 
ners, these  dogs  perform  astonishing  feats  of  endur- 
ance, and  never  in  all  their  lives  receive  a  kindly 
word.  "If  you  treat  them  kindly,  they  think  you 
are  afraid,  and  will  at  once  attack  you,"  the  driver 


186  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

said;  "the  only  way  to  govern  them  is  through  fear." 
Once  a  day  only  are  they  fed  on  raw  fish,  and  while 
the  Malamute  prefers  to  pilfer  and  steal  around  the 
camp,  the  Huskie  will  go  and  fish  for  himself  when 
off  duty,  if  given  the  chance.  Just  like  the  bears  and 
lynx  of  the  salmon-running  streams,  he  will  stand 
along  the  shore  and  seize  the  fish  that  is  shoved  too 
far  upon  the  shallows.  Seventy  miles  a  day  is  the 
rule  with  the  Indians  and  their  dog  teams,  and  the 
white  man  does  almost  as  much.  Forty  miles  is  it 
from  here  to  Caribou  Crossing,  and  the  Northwest 
Mounted  Police,  with  their  Labrador  teams,  take 
the  mails  when  the  trains  are  snowbound  and  cover 
the  distance  in  four  to  five  hours.  Great  going  this 
must  be ! 

And  then  the  conversation  turned  to  the  great 
cold  of  this  far  north  land,  when  during  the  long 
nights  the  sun  only  shows  for  an  hour  or  two  above 
the  horizon. 

When  the  thermometer  falls  below  fifty  degrees 
(Fahr.),  then  are  the  horses  put  away,  what  few 
there  may  be,  and  the  dogs  transport  the  freight  and 
mails  along  the  Government  road  between  White 
Horse  and  Dawson,  as  well  as  from  Dawson  to  the 
mining  camps  to  which  the  stage  lines  usually  run. 
Indeed,  throughout  all  of  this  north  land,  with  the 
coming  of  the  snow,  the  dogs  are  harnessed  to  the 
sledges  and  become  the  constant  traveling  compan- 
ions of  man. 


MAIiAMUTE  TEAM   OP  GOVERNMENT  MAir.- 
CARRIER — DAWSON. 


BREAKING  OF  THE  YUKON — MAY    17,    19<K 


SUN  DOGS. 


WINTER  LANDSCAPE. 


DOG    LORE    OP    THE    NORTH.  191 

The  air  is  dry  in  all  this  great  interior  basin  of 
the  continent,  and,  consequently,  the  great  cold  is 
not  so  keenly  felt  as  in  the  damper  airs  nearer  to 
the  sea.  The  dogs  can  travel  in  all  weathers  which 
man  can  stand,  and  even  when  it  becomes  so  cold 
that  men  dare  not  move.  The  lowest  Government 
record  of  the  thermometer  yet  obtained  at  Dawson 
City  is  eighty-three  degrees  below  zero.  These  great 
falls  of  temperature  only  occasionally  occur,  but 
when  the  thermometer  comes  down  to  minus  sixty 
degrees,  then  men  stay  fast  indoors,  and  only  ven- 
ture out  as  the  necessity  demands;  then  the  usually 
clear  atmosphere  becomes  filled  with  a  misty  fog, 
often  so  thick  that  it  is  difficult  to  see  a  hundred 
yards  away. 

When  traveling  with  a  dog  team,  or,  indeed,  when 
"mushing"  upon  snow-shoes  across  streams  and  for- 
ests, men  go  rather  lightly  clad,  discarding  furs,  and 
ordinarily  wearing  only  thick  clothes,  with  the  long 
canvas  parquet  as  protection  against  the  wind  rather 
than  against  the  temperature;  then  motion  becomes 
a  necessity,  and  to  tarry  means  to  freeze.  The  dan- 
ger of  the  traveler  going  by  himself  is  that  the 
frost  may  affect  his  eyesight,  freezing  the  eyelids 
together,  perhaps  dazing  his  sight,  unless  snow- 
glasses  are  worn.  And  the  ice  forms  in  the  nostrils 
so  rapidly,  as  well  as  about  the  mouth,  and  upon  the 
mustache  and  beard,  that  it  is  a  constant  effort  to 
keep  the  face  free  from  accumulating  ice.  In  small 
parties,  however,  men  travel  long  distances,  watch- 


L92  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

iug  each  other  as  well  as  themselves  to  insure  escape 
from  the  ravages  of  the  frost.  When  the  journey  is 
long  and  the  toil  has  become  severe,  the  Arctic  drow- 
siness is  another  of  the  enemies  which  must  be  pre- 
vented from  overcoming  the  traveler,  and  the  meth- 
ods are  often  cruel  which  friends  must  exercise  in 
order  to  prevent  their  companions  from  falling 
asleep. 

During  this  long  period  of  Arctic  winter  and  Arc- 
tic night,  there  seems  to  be  no  great  cessation  in 
the  struggle  for  gold;  the  diggings  in  the  Klondike 
and  remoter  regions  retain  their  companies  of  men 
toiling  to  find  the  gold.  The  frozen  gravels  are 
blasted  out  and  piled  up  to  be  thawed  the  next  sum- 
mer by  the  heat  of  the  sun  and  washed  with  the 
flowing  waters. 

"While  the  Arctic  night  prevails  for  twenty-two  or 
twenty-three  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  yet  so 
brilliant  are  the  stars  and  so  refulgent  are  the  heav- 
ens with  the  lightening  of  the  aurora  borealis,  that 
men  work  and  travel  and  carry  on  the  usual  occu- 
pations, little  hindered  by  the  absence  of  the  sun. 
Sometimes,  in  the  very  coldest  days,  is  beheld  the 
curious  phenomenon  of  several  suns  appearing  above 
the  horizon,  and  these  are  called  the  "sun  dogs," 
the  sun  itself  being  seemingly  surrounded  by  lesser 
ones.  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  a  fine  pho- 
tograph taken  on  one  of  these  days,  which  I  am  able 
to  send  you. 


DOG    LORE    OF    THE    NORTH.  193 

The  freezing  of  the  Yukon  comes  on  very  sud- 
denly, the  great  river  often  becoming  solid  in  a  night. 
The  curious  thing  of  these  northern  lakes  and  rivers 
is,  that  the  ice  forms  first  upon  the  bottom,  and,  ris- 
ing, fills  the  water  with  floating  masses  and  ice  par- 
ticles, which  then  become  congealed  almost  immedi- 
ately. 

Early  in  last  October  our  steamer  ' '  White  Horse, ' ' 
on  which  we  are  now  traveling,  became  permanently 
frozen  in  when  within  one  hundred  miles  of  Dawson 
City,  the  apparently  clear  river  freezing  so  quickly 
that  the  boat  became  fast  for  the  winter,  and  the 
passengers  were  compelled  to  "mush"  their  way,  as 
best  they  might,  across  the  yet  snowless  country,  a 
terrible  and  trying  experience  in  the  gathering  cold. 

You  may  be  in  a  row-boat  or  a  canoe  upon  ice- 
free  waters,  and,  as  you  paddle,  you  may  notice 
bubbles  and  particles  of  ice  coming  to  the  surface. 
Great,  then,  is  the  danger.  The  bottom  has  begun  to 
freeze.  You  may  be  frozen  in  before  you  reach  the 
shore  in  ice  yet  too  thin  to  walk  upon  or  permit 
escape. 

For  the  greater  part  of  the  winter  season  the 
frozen  streams  become  the  natural  highways  of  the 
traveler,  and  the  dog  teams  usually  prefer  the  snow- 
covered  ice  rather  than  attempt  to  go  over  the 
rougher  surface  of  the  land. 

Another  curious  thing,  friends  tell  me,  affects 
them  in  this  winter  night-time,  and  that  is  the  dis- 
position of  men  to  hibernate.     Fifteen  and  sixteen 


194  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

hours  of  sleep  are  commonly  required,  while  in  the 
nightless  summer-time  three  and  four  and  five  hours 
satisfy  all  the  demands  nature  seems  to  make — thus 
the  long  sleeps  of  winter  compensate  for  the  lack  of 
rest  taken  during  the  summer-time. 

And  yet  these  hardy  men  of  the  north  tell  me  that 
they  enjoy  the  winter,  and  that  they  perform  their 
toils  with  deliberation  and  ease,  and  take  full  advant- 
age of  the  long  sleeping  periods. 

The  Yukon  freezes  up  about  the  10th  of  October, 
the  snow  shortly  follows,  and  there  is  no  melting  of 
the  ice  until  early  June.  This  year  the  ice  went  out 
from  the  river  at  Dawson  upon  June  10th;  thus, 
there  are  seven  to  eight  months  of  snow  and  ice- 
bound winter  in  this  Arctic  land. 


HOW    THE    GOVERNMENT    SEARCHES    FOR    GOLD.    195 


ELEVENTH  LETTER. 

HOW   THE   GOVERNMENT    SEARCHES   FOR   GOLD. 

Steamer  Dolphin,  September  22,  1903. 
We  left  White  Horse  by  the  little  narrow-gauge 
railway,  White  Pass  &  Yukon  Railway,  at  9 :30 — two 
passenger  cars,  one  smoker,  mail  and  express  and 
baggage  hung  on  behind  a  dozen  freight  cars.  Our 
steamer  brought  up  about  one  hundred  passengers 
from  Dawson  and  down-river  points,  and  together  with 
what  got  on  board  at  White  Horse,  the  train  was 
packed.  Many  red-coated  Northwest  Mounted  Po- 
lice also  boarded  the  train,  and  just  as  it  pulled  out, 
a  strapping  big,  strong-chinned,  muscular  woman 
came  in  the  rear  door  and  sat  down.  She  was  ele- 
gantly gowned,  dark,  heavy  serge,  white  shirt  waist, 
embroidered  cloth  jacket,  and  much  gold  jewelry,  high 
plumed  hat.  Presently  a  big  man  called  out  that  all 
the  men  must  go  forward  into  the  next  car,  and  the 
big  woman  announced  that  she  would  proceed  to 
examine  all  the  ladies  for  gold  dust.  The  paternal 
government  of  the  Yukon  Territory  exacts  a  tax  of 
2V2  per  cent,  of  all  gold  found,  and  examines  all 
persons  going  out  of  the  territory,  and  confiscates  all 
dust  found  on  the  person.  Women  are  said  to  be 
the  most  inveterate  smugglers,  and  the  big  woman 
sroes  through  them  most  unmercifully.  She  bade  the 
lady  next  her  to  stand  up  and  then  proceeded  to  feel 


1-J6  IN   TO   THE    YUKON. 

her  from  stockings  to  chemise  top,  and  did  the 
same  by  the  others.  Those  who  wore  corsets  had  a 
tough  time,  and  some  had  to  undo  their  hair.  As 
the  first  victim  stood  up  and  was  unbuttoned  and 
felt  over,  she  was  greeted  with  an  audible  smile  by 
the  other  ladies,  but  silence  fell  as  the  next  victim 
was  taken  in  hand.  Meanwhile,  during  this  pleasant 
diversion,  a  big  red-coat  stood  with  his  back  to  each 
door,  and  the  men  were  being  similarly  though  not 
so  ruthlessly  gone  through  in  the  other  cars.  This 
trip  no  dust  was  found,  I  believe,  but  last  week  one 
woman  was  relieved  of  $1,800  sewed  into  the  margin 
of  her  skirts  and  tucked  deep  into  the  recesses  of  her 
bosom.  Stockings  and  bosom  are  the  two  chief  femi- 
nine caches  for  gold,  and  when  a  culprit  is  thus  dis- 
covered and  relieved,  many  are  the  protestations  and 
unavailing  the  clamors  raised.  During  the  past  year 
I  am  told  that  the  examiners  have  seized  in  these 
searches  some  $60,000  in  dust,  so  I  persume  the 
happy  custom  will  for  some  time  continue.  Detec- 
tives are  kept  in  Dawson,  travel  on  the  boats,  and 
so  watch  and  scrutinize  every  traveler  that  by  the 
time  the  final  round-up  and  search  takes  place,  the 
probable  smugglers  are  all  pretty  well  spotted.  As 
each  is  examined,  his  or  her  name  is  checked  off  in  a 
little  book. 

We  were  close  to  Caribou  Crossing  when  the  cere- 
mony was  over,  and  I  with  others  of  my  sex  was 
permitted  to  re-enter  the  rear  car  and  rejoin  the 
company  of  the  much  beflustered  ladies. 


LAKE  BENNETT. 


THE    HEIGHT   OF   LAM),    WHITE    PASS. 


HOW    THE    GOVERNMENT    SEARCHES    FOR    GOLD.    199 

All  along  the  advance  of  winter  was  apparent. 
The  green  of  a  fortnight  ago  had  turned  into  the 
universal  golden  yellow,  and  the  fresh  snow  lay  in 
more  extended  covering  upon  all  the  mountain  sum- 
mits and  even  far  down  their  slopes.  So  it  is  in 
this  far  north,  each  day  the  snow  creeps  down  and 
down  until  it  has  caught  and  covered  all  the  valleys 
as  well  as  hills. 

At  Caribou  we  met  old  Bishop  Bompas  and  his 
good  little  wife,  who,  with  a  big  cane,  came  all  the 
way  into  the  car  to  see  us  and  say  good-by.  A  charm- 
ing couple  who  have  given  their  lives  doing  a  noble 
work. 

Lake  Bennett  was  like  a  mirror,  and  Lake  Linde- 
mann  above  it,  too,  seemed  all  the  greener  in  con- 
trast to  the  encroaching  shows.  We  were  at  the 
White  Pass  Summit  by  3  p.  m.,  and  then  for  an  hour 
came  down  the  3,200  feet  of  four  per  cent,  grade,  the 
twenty  miles  to  Skagway.  The  increase  of  snows  on 
all  the  mountains  seemed  to  bring  out  more  saliently 
than  ever  the  sharp,  jagged  granite  rock  masses.  It 
even  seemed  to  us  that  we  were  traversing  a  wilder, 
bolder,  harsher  land  than  when  three  weeks  ago  we 
entered  it.  And  the  views  and  vistas  down  into  the 
warmer  valleys  we  were  plunging  into  were  at  times 
magnificent.  Snow  around  and  above  us,  increasing 
greenness  of  foliage  below  us,  and  beyond  recurring 
glimpses  of  the  Lynn  fiord,  with  Skagway  nestling 
at  its  head.  In  every  affluent  valley  a  glacier  and  a 
roaring  torrent. 


200  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

One  of  the  newest  and  best  boats  in  the  trade, 
"The  Dolphin,"  was  awaiting  us.  Our  stateroom 
was  already  wired  for  and  secured.  We  took  our 
last  Alaska  meal  at  the  "Pack  Train  Restaurant," 
where  we  snacked  sumptuously  on  roast  beef,  baked 
potatoes  and  coffee  for  seventy  cents  (in  Dawson  it 
would  have  been  an  easy  $3.00),  and  walked 
down  the  mile-long  pier  to  the  boat.  The  tides  are 
some  twenty  feet  here,  and  the  sandy  bars  of  Skag- 
way  require  long  piers  to  permit  the  ships  to  land 
when  the  tides  are  out. 

We  cast  off  about  10  p.  m.,  with  the  tide  almost  at 
its  height,  and  only  awoke  to-day  just  as  we  were 
steaming  out  of  Juneau.  Now  we  are  approaching 
the  beautiful  and  dangerous  Wrangel  Narrows,  and 
see  everywhere  above  us  the  fresh  snows  of  the  fort- 
night's making. 

WILD    SEAS   AMONG   THE    FJORDS. 

Wednesday,  September  23rd. 
It  is  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  and  we  are  just 
safely  through  the  —  to-day  —  tempestuous  passage 
of  "Dixon's  Entrance,"  the  thirty-three-mile  break 
in  the  coast's  protecting  chain  of  islands  and  the 
outlet  for  Port  Simpson  to  the  open  sea.  Yesterday 
we  passed  through  the  dangerous  twenty  miles  of  the 
Wrangel  Narrows  just  before  dark,  and  only  the 
swift  swirls  of  the  fighting  tides  endangered  us ;  they 
fall  and  rise  seventeen  feet  in  a  few  hours,  and  the 
waters  entering  the  tortuous  channels  from  each  end 


WILD   SEAS   AMONG   THE   FJORDS.  201 

meet  in  eddying  struggle  somewhere  near  the  upper 
end.  The  boats  try  and  pass  through  just  before  the 
flood  tide  or  a  little  after  it,  or  else  tie  up  and  wait 
-  for  the  high  water.  If  wTe  had  been  an  hour  later,  we 
should  have  had  to  lie  by  for  fifteen  hours,  the  cap- 
tain said.  As  we  turned  in  from  Frederick  Sound, 
between  two  low-lying  islands:  all  densely  wooded 
with  impenetrable  forests  of  fir,  the  waters  were  run- 
ning out  against  us  almost  in  fury,  but  in  a  mile  or 
two  they  were  flowing  with  us  just  as  swiftly. 

To-day  we  saw  a  good  many  ducks,  chiefly  mallard 
and  teal,  and  small  divers,  and  my  first  cormorant, 
black,  long-necked  and  circling  near  us  with  much 
swifter  flight  than  the  gull.  In  the  narrows  we 
started  a  great  blue  heron  and  one  or  two  smaller 
bitterns. 

From  the  narrows  we  passed  into  Sumner  Strait, 
and  then  turning  to  the  right  and  avoiding  Wrangel 
Bay  and  Fort  Wrangel,  where  we  stopped  going  up, 
passed  into  the  great  Clarence  Strait  that  leads  up 
direct  from  the  sea.  A  sound  or  fiord  one  hundred 
miles  or  more  long,  ten  or  fifteen  miles  wide. 

The  day  had  been  clear,  but,  before  passing 
through  the  narrows,  clouds  had  gathered,  and  a  sort 
of  fierce  Scotch  mist  had  blown  our  rain-coats  wet. 
On  coming  out  into  wider  waters,  the  storm  had  be- 
come a  gale.  The  wildest  night  we  have  had  since 
twelve  months  ago  in  the  tempest  of  the  year  upon 
the  Gulf  of  Finland.  To-day,  until  now,  the  waters 
have  been  too  boisterous  to  write.    All  down  Clarence 


202  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 

Strait,  until  we  turned  into  Revilla  and  Gigedo  Chan- 
nels— named  for  and  by  the  Spanish  discoverers — 
and  across  the  thirty -three  miles  of  Dixon's  En- 
trance, we  have  shuttlecocked  about  at  the  mercy  of 
the  gale  and  in  the  teeth  of  the  running  sea.  The 
guests  at  table  have  been  few,  but  now  we  are  snug 
behind  Porcher  Island  and  passing  into  the  smooth 
waters  of  Greenville  Channel,  so  I  am  able  to  write 
again.  The  Swedish  captain  says  the  storm  is  our 
equinoctial,  and  that  may  be,  and  now  that  the  sun 
is  out  and  the  blue  sky  appearing,  we  shall  soon  forget 
the  stress,  although  to-night,  as  we  pass  from  Fitz- 
hugh  Sound  into  Queen  Charlotte  Sound,  we  shall 
have  a  taste  of  the  Pacific  swell  again,  and  probably 
yet  have  some  thick  weather  in  the  Gulf  of  Georgia. 
Considering  the  lateness  of  the  season,  we  are,  all  in 
all,  satisfied  that  we  rightly  gave  up  the  St.  Michaels 
trip,  though  it  has  sorely  disappointed  us  not  to  have 
seen  the  entire  two  thousand  miles  of  the  mighty 
Yukon. 

Already  we  notice  the  moderation  of  the  tempera- 
ture and  the  greater  altitude  of  the  sun,  for  we  are 
quite  one  thousand  miles  south  of  Dawson,  while  the 
air  has  lost  its  quickening,  exhilarating,  tonic  quality. 

We  are  becoming  right  well  acquainted  with  our 
sundry  shipmates,  particularly  those  who  have  "come 
out"  from  the  Yukon  with  us.  Among  them  we  have 
found  out  another  interesting  man.  Across  the  table 
from  us  on  the  steamer  "White  Horse"  sat  a  shock- 
headed  man  of  about  thirty  years,  tall,  very  tall,  but 


WILD   SEAS   AMONG   THE   FJORDS.  203 

muscularly  built,  with  a  strong,  square  jaw  and  firm, 
blue  eyes.  A  fellow  to  have  his  own  way ;  a  bad  man 
in  a  mix-up.  A  flannel  shirt,  no  collar,  rough  clothes. 
Possibly  a  gentleman,  perhaps  a  boss  tough.  We  find 
him  a  graduate  of  the  University  of  Michigan.  Ho 
has  lived  in  Mexico,  and  now  for  five  straight  years 
has  been  "mushing  it,"  and  prospecting  in  the  far 
north;  has  tramped  almost  to  the  Arctic  Sea,  into  the 
water-shed  of  the  Mackenzie,  and  bossed  fifty  to  one 
hundred  men  at  the  Klondike  and  Dominion  diggings. 
His  camera  has  always  been  his  companion,  and  for 
an  hour  yesterday  he  sat  in  our  cabin  and  read  to 
us  from  the  MSS.  some  of  the  verse  and  poems  with 
which  his  valise  is  stacked.  Some  of  the  things  are 
charming  and  some  will  bring  the  tears.  This  far 
north  land  of  gold  and  frost  has  as  yet  sent  out  no 
poet  to  depict  its  hopes,  its  perils,  its  wrecks.  It  may 
be  that  he  is  the  man.  His  name  is  Luther  F.  Camp- 
bell, and  you  may  watch  for  the  name.  And  so  we 
meet  all  sorts. 

Friday,  September  26th. 
Yesterday  was  a  "nasty"  day,  as  was  the  day 
before.  Early,  2  or  3  a.  m.,  we  passed  through  the 
ugly  waters  of  Millbank  Sound,  where  the  sweeping 
surge  of  the  foam-capped  Pacific  smashes  full  force 
against  the  rock-bound  coast.  We  were  tossed  about 
greatly  in  our  little  400-ton  boat,  until  at  last,  pass- 
ing a  projecting  headland,  we  were  instantly  in  dead 
quiet  water  and  behind  islands  once  more.     About 


204  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

10  a.  m.  we  came  again  into  the  angry  Pacific,  and 
for  fifty  miles — four  hours — were  tossed  upon  the 
heavy  sea,  Queen  Charlotte  Sound.  The  equinoctial 
gales  have  had  a  wild  time  on  the  Pacific,  and  the 
gigantic  swell  of  that  ocean  buffeted  our  little  boat 
about  like  a  toy.  But  she  is  a  fine  "sea  boat,"  and 
sat  trim  as  a  duck,  rolling  but  little,  nor  taking  much 
water.  Toward  middle  afternoon  we  were  in  quiet 
waters  again,  and  by  nightfall  at  the  dangerous  Sey- 
mour Narrows,  where  Vancouver  Island  leans  up 
against  the  continent,  or  has  cracked  off  from  it,  and 
a  very  narrow  channel  separates  the  two.  Here  the 
tides — twelve  feet — rise,  rush  and  eddy,  meet  and 
whirl,  and  only  at  flood  stage  do  boats  try  to  pass 
through. 

In  1875,  a  U.  S.  man-of-war  tried  to  pass  through 
when  the  tides  were  low,  and,  caught  in  the  swirling 
maelstrom,  sank  in  one  hundred  fathoms  of  water. 
In  1883,  a  coastwise  steamer  ventured  at  improper 
moment  to  make  the  passage,  was  caught  in  the  mad 
currents,  and  was  engulfed  with  nearly  all  on  board ; 
half  a  dozen  men  alone  were  saved.  Hence  the  cap- 
tains are  now  very  careful  in  making  the  passage, 
and  so  we  lay  at  anchor — or  lay  to — from  seven  to 
twelve,  midnight,  waiting  for  the  tide. 

To-day  we  are  spinning  down  the  Gulf  of  Georgia 
and  Puget  Sound,  the  wind  direct  astern,  and  have 
already  left  Vancouver  and  Victoria  to  the  north. 
The  sun  is  clear  and  soft,  not  hard  and  brilliant  as 
in  Dawson.     Whales  are  blowing  at  play  about  the 


WILD    SEAS    AMONG    THE    FJORDS. 


205 


ship,  gulls  skimming  the  air  in  multitudes.  All  our 
company  are  over  their  seasickness  and  now  mostly 
on  deck.  We  are  repacking  our  bags  and  the  steamer 
trunk,  taking  off  heavy  winter  flannels  and  outer 
wear,  and  preparing  to  land  at  Seattle  clad  again  in 
semi-summer  clothes. 


206  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 


TWELFTH  LETTER. 

seattle,  the  future  mistress  of  the  trade  and 
commerce  of  the  north. 

The  Portland  Hotel,        \ 
Portland,  Oregon,  October  3,  1903.  / 

Just  one  week  ago  to-day  the  steamer  "Dolphin" 
landed  us  safely  at  the  pier  at  Seattle.  The  sail  on 
Puget  Sound,  a  body  of  deep  water  open  for  one 
hundred  miles  to  the  ocean,  was  delightful.  We 
passed  many  vessels,  one  a  great  four-masted  barque 
nearing  its  port  after  six  or  eight  months'  voyage 
round  the  Horn  from  Liverpool. 

Seattle  lies  upon  a  semi-circle  of  steep  hills,  curv- 
ing round  the  deep  waters  of  the  Sound  like  a  new 
moon.  An  ideal  site  for  a  city  and  for  a  mighty  sea- 
port, which  some  day  it  will  be.  Many  big  ships  by 
the  extensive  piers  and  warehouses.  The  largest 
ships  may  come  right  alongside  the  wharves,  even 
those  drawing  forty  feet.  The  tracks  of  the  Great 
Northern  and  Northern  Pacific  Railways  bring  the 
cars  along  the  ship's  side,  and  there  load  and  un- 
load. All  this  we  noted  as  our  boat  warped  in  to 
her  berth.  A  great  crowd  awaited  us.  Many  of  our 
passengers  were  coming  home  from  the  far  north 
after  two  and  three  years '  absence.  Friends  and  fam- 
ilies were  there  to  greet  them ;  hotel  runners  and 
boarding-house   hawkers;   citizens,   too,   of  the   half 


SEATTLE.  207 

world  who  live  by  pillage  of  their  fellowmen  were 
there,  and  police  and  plain  clothes  men  of  the  detec- 
tive service  were  there,  all  alike  ready  to  greet  the  re- 
turning Klondiker  with  his  greater  or  lesser  poke  of 
gold.  It  was  exciting  to  look  down  upon  them  and 
watch  their  own  excitement  and  emotion  as  they  espied 
the  home-comers  upon  the  decks.  We,  as  well,  had  all 
sorts  of  people  among  our  passengers.  Mostly  the 
fortunate  gold-finders  who  had  made  enough  from 
the  diggings  to  "come  out"  for  the  winter,  and  some, 
even  to  stay  "out"  for  good.  A  young  couple  stood 
near  me ;  they  were  on  their  wedding  trip  ;  they  would 
spend  the  winter  in  balmy  Los  Angeles  and  then  re- 
turn to  the  far  north  in  the  spring.  An  old  man  stood 
leaning  on  the  rail.  Deep  lines  marked  his  face,  on 
which  was  yet  stamped  contentment.  He  had  been 
"in"  to  see  his  son  who  had  struck  it  rich  on  Domin- 
ion Creek,  who  had  already  put  "a  hundred  thousand 
in  the  bank,"  he  said.  He  had  with  him  a  magnificent 
great,  black  Malamute,  "leader  of  my  boy's  team  and 
who  once  saved  him.  from  death.  The  dog  cost  us 
a  hundred  dollars.  I  am  taking  him  to  Victoria.  I 
couldn't  let  him  go.  His  life  shall  be  easy  now,"  the 
old  man  added.  Just  then  I  noted  a  tall  man  in  quiet 
gray  down  on  the  dock  looking  intently  at  two  men 
who  stood  by  one  another  a  little  to  my  left.  They 
seemed  to  feel  his  glance,  spoke  together  and  moved 
uneasily  away.  They  were  a  pair  of  "bad  eggs"  who 
had  been  warned  out  of  the  Yukon  by  the  Mounted 
Police,  and  who  were  evidently  expected  in  Seattle. 


208  IN   TO   THE    YUKON. 

One,  who  wore  a  green  vest  and  nugget  chain,  played 
the  gentleman.  The  other,  who  worked  with  him,  did 
the  heavy  work  and  had  an  ugly  record.  He  was 
roughly  dressed  and  wore  a  blue  flannel  shirt  and  a 
cap.  A  bull  neck,  face  covered  with  dense-growing, 
close-cropped  red  beard,  shifty  gray  eyes.  He  had 
been  suspected  of  several  murders  and  many  hold- 
ups. Detectives  frequently  travel  on  frhese  boats, 
keeping  watch  upon  the  "bad  men"  who  are  sent 
out  of  the  north.  We  probably  had  a  few  on  board. 
In  the  captain's  cabin,  close  to  our  own,  were  piled 
up  more  than  half  a  million  dollars  in  gold  bars ;  the 
passengers,  most  of  them,  carried  dust.  But  the  pair, 
and  any  pals  they  may  have  had  along,  had  kept 
very  quiet.  They  were  spotted  at  the  start.  They 
knew  it.  Now  they  were  spotted  again,  and  this,  too, 
they  discerned. 

Seattle  is  the  first  homing  port  for  all  that  army 
of  thugs  and  scalawags  who  seek  a  new  land  like  the 
far  north,  and  who,  when  there  discovered,  are  sum- 
marily hurried  back  again.  It  is  said  to  be  the  "near- 
est hell ' '  of  any  city  on  the  coast.  The  hungry  horde 
of  vampire  parasites  would  make  a  fat  living  from 
the  pillage  of  the  returned  goldseeker  if  it  were  not 
for  the  vigilance  of  the  police.  A  strong  effort  is 
now  being  made  by  the  authorities  of  Seattle  to  stamp 
out  this  criminal  class  and  drive  it  from  the  city. 

Our  impression,  as  we  crowded  our  way  through 
the  pressing  throngs  upon  the  pier  and  pushed  on 
up  into  the  city,  was  that  we  were  in  another  Chicago. 


SEATTLE.  209 

Tall  buildings,  wide  streets,  fine  shops,  great  motion 
of  the  crowds  upon  the  streets,  many  electric 
tram-cars  running  at  brief  intervals,  and  all 
crowded. 

On  our  trip  up  the  Yukon  we  had  made  the  pleas- 
ant acquaintance  of  a  Mr.  S and  a  Mr.  M of 

Columbus,  0.  Keen  and  agreeable  men  who  had  been 
spending  a  month  in  Dawson  puncturing  a  gold  swin- 
dle into  which  an  effort  had  been  made  to  lead  them 
and  their  friends  by  unscrupulous  alleged  bonanza 
kings.  They  had  cleverly  nipped  the  attempt  in  the 
bud,  and  were  now  returning,  well  satisfied  with  their 
achievements.  We  had  become  fast  comrades  and 
resolved  to  keep  together  yet  another  few  days.  We 
found  our  way  to  the  Grand  Rainier  Hotel,  one  of 
Seattle's  best,  and  now  kept  by  the  old  host  of  the 
Gibson  House  in  Cincinnati. 

Our  favorable  impressions  of  Seattle  were  con- 
firmed that  night  when  our  friends  introduced  us 
to  the  chief  glory  of  Puget  Sound,  the  monstrous 
and  delicious  crab,  a  crab  as  big  as  a  dinner  plate 
and  more  delicate  than  the  most  luscious  lobster  you 
ever  ate.  They  boil  him,  cool  him,  crack  him  and 
serve  him  with  mayonnaise  dressing.  You  eat  him, 
and  continue  to  eat  him  as  long  as  Providence  gives 
you  power,  and  when  you  have  cracked  the  last  shell 
and  sucked  the  last  claw,  and  finally  desist,  you  con- 
tentedly comprehend  that  your  palate  has  reflected  to 
your  brain  all  the  gustatory  sensations  of  a  Delmonico 
banquet,  with  a  Sousa  band  concert  thrown  in. 


210  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

Saturday,  after  we  had  spent  the  morning  in  see- 
ing the  shops  and  wandering  along  the  fine  streets 
of  the  choicer  residence  section  of  the  city,  we  all 
took  the  tourist  electric  car,  which,  at  2  p.  m.,  sets 
out  and  tours  the  town  with  a  guide  who,  through  a 
megaphone,  explains  the  sights. 

Seattle  now  claims  one  hundred  and  twenty  to  one 
hundred  and  thirty  thousand  inhabitants,  and  prob- 
ably has  almost  that  number.  A  distinctly  new  city, 
yet  growing  marvelously,  and  already  possessing  many 
great  buildings  of  which  a  much  larger  town  might 
well  boast. 

Toward  evening,  at  4 :30  p.  m.,  we  took  the  through 
electric  flyer,  and  sped  across  a  country  of  many 
truck  gardens  and  apple  orchards,  some  thirty-five 
miles  to  Tacoma,  that  distance  farther  up  the  Sound, 
and  once  the  rival  of  Seattle.  A  city  more  spread  out 
and  less  well  built,  the  creation  of  the  promoters  of 
the  Northern  Pacific  Railway  Co.,  in  the  palmy  days 
of  Henry  Villard.  Tacoma,  too,  possesses  superb 
docking  facilities  and  a  good  two  miles  of  huge  ware- 
houses and  monstrous  wharves,  where,  also,  great 
ships  are  constantly  loaded  and  unloaded  for  the 
Orient,  South  Africa  and  all  the  world,  but  whence 
few  or  no  ships  depart  for  the  Northern  Continent 
of  Alaska.  Tacoma  seemed  less  alive  and  alert  than 
Seattle,  fewer  people  on  the  streets,  smaller  shops 
and  business  blocks,  and  the  people  moving  more  lei- 
surely along  the  thoroughfares.  In  Seattle  the  houses 
mostly  fresh  painted;  in  Tacoma  the  houses  looking 


SEATTLE.  211 

dingy  and  as  though  not  painted  now  for  many  a 
month.  Seattle  is  noted  for  the  public  spirit  of  its 
citizens ;  they  work  and  pull  together  for  the  common 
weal,  but  Tacoma  is  so  dominated  by  the  railway  in- 
fluence which  created  it,  that  the  people  are  lacking 
in  the  vigor  of  the  rival  town. 

As  our  electric  train  came  to  a  standstill,  W 

rode  up  on  his  bicycle,  and  he  was  surely  glad  to  see 

us.    Messrs.  S and  M had  come  over  with  us 

for  the  ride,  and  we  all  five  set  right  off  to  find  our 
dinner.    "Cracked  Crabs"  was  again  the  word,  and 

W added,    "Puget    Sound    oysters    broiled    on 

toast."  A  delicate  little  oyster  about  the  size  of 
one's  finger  nail,  and  most  savory.  When  our  party 
left  the  table,  we  were  as  contented  a  group  as  ever 
had  dined. 

We   lodged  with  W ,   and  were   delightfully 

cared  for — a  large,  sunny  room  overlooking  such  a 
garden  of  roses  and  green  turf  as  I  never  before  have 
seen.  Roses  as  big  as  peonies  and  grass  as  green  and 
thick  as  the  velvet  turf  of  the  Oxford  "quads."  Our 
host  gave  us  each  morning  a  dainty  breakfast,  and 
then  we  foraged  for  ourselves  during  the  day. 

In  the  morning  of  Sunday  we  attended  the  Con- 
gregational Church,  and  in  the  afternoon  rode  on 
the  electric  car  to  the  park,  a  few  miles — two  or  three 
— out  of  the  city,  along  the  shores  of  one  of  the  fine 
bays  that  indent  the  Sound.  Not  so  fine  a  park  as 
Vancouver's,  but  one  that  some  day  will  probably  rank 
among  the  more  beautiful  ones  of  our  American  cities. 


212  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

On  Monday  we  wandered  about  the  town,  visited 
its  museum,  saw  the  fine  public  buildings,  and  spent 
several  hours  in  going-  over  and  through  the  most  ex- 
tensive sawmill  plant  on  the  coast — "in  the  world," 
they  say.  The  big  business  originally  instituted  by 
one  of  the  early  pioneers,  is  now  managed  by  his 
four  sons,  all  graduates  of  Yale.  We  met  the  elder 
of  them  in  blue  overalls  and  slouch  hat,  all  mill  dust. 
A  keen,  intelligent  face.  He  works  with  his  men 
and  keeps  the  details  of  the  business  well  in  hand. 
How  different,  I  thought,  from  the  English  manner 
of  doing  things.  These  men  are  rich,  millionaires; 
college  bred,  they  work  with  their  men.  In  England 
they  tell  you  that  no  man  who  would  give  his  son  a 
business  career  would  think  of  sending  him  to  col- 
lege. Oxford  or  Cambridge  would  there  unfit  him 
for  business  life.  He  would  come  out  merely  a  "gen- 
tleman," which  there  means  a  man  who  does  nothing, 
who  earns  no  bread,  but  who  lives  forever  a  parasite 
on  the  toil  of  others. 

In  these  great  mills  the  monstrous  fir  and  pine 
logs  of  Washington  are  sawed  up,  cut,  planed,  and 
loaded  directly  into  ships  for  all  the  markets  of  the 
earth — Europe,  South  Africa,  Australia,  China,  South 
America  and  New  York,  wherever  -these  splendid 
woods  are  in  demand.  The  forests  of  Washington 
and  British  Columbia  are  said  to  possess  the  finest 
timber  in  the  world,  and  all  the  world  seems  to  be 
now  seeking  to  have  of  it. 


SEATTLE.  213 

Many  fishing-boats  were  in  the  harbor  and  along 
the  water-side,  and  many  of  the  big  sixty-foot  canoes, 
dug  out  of  a  single  immense  log,  paddled  by  Indians, 
were  passing  up  and  down  the  bay.  Throughout  the 
States  of  Washington  and  Oregon  the  Indians  are 
the  chief  reliance  of  the  hop  growers  for  the  picking 
of  their  crops,  and  every  summer 's-end  the  various 
tribes  along  the  coast  gather  to  the  work.  They  come 
from  everywhere — from  Vancouver's  Island,  from 
British  Columbia  and  even  from  Alaska.  They  voy- 
age down  the  coast  in  their  immense  sea  canoes,  stop 
at  the  ports,  or  ascend  the  rivers,  pushing  as  far  as 
water  will  carry  them.  They  bring  the  children  and 
the  old  folks  with  them,  they  buy  or  hire  horses,  and 
they  push  hundreds  of  miles  inland  to  the  hop  fields, 
where  a  merry  holiday  is  made  of  the  gathering  of 
the  hops.  They  were  now  returning,  and  many  were 
passing  through  Tacoma.  They  were  here  outfitting, 
and  spending  their  newly  earned  wages  in  buying  all 
those  useful  and  useless  things  an  Indian  wants — 
gay  shawls  and  big  ear-rings  for  the  squaws,  gaudy 
blankets,  knives  and  guns  for  the  bucks;  even  toys 
for  the  papooses.  On  the  side  the  women  were  also 
selling  baskets  made  in  their  seasons  of  leisure.  In 
the  shelter  of  the  long  pier  one  afternoon  we  came 
upon  a  group  of  several  family  canoes  preparing  for 
the  long  voyage  to  the  north.  A  number  of  pale- 
face women  were  bargaining  for  baskets;  one  had 
just  bought  a  toy  canoe  from  an  anxious  mother,  and 
I  was  fortunate  in  buying  another.    Near  by  a  man 


214  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

was  carefully  cutting  out  the  figures  of  a  Totem  pole. 
They  were  evidently  from  Alaska.  Alaska  and  a 
thousand  miles  or  more  of  sea  lay  between  them  and 
home.  They  looked  like  a  group  of  Japanese  and 
spoke  in  gutteral  throat  tones.  The  Indians  we  lately 
met  at  Yakima  were  wholly  different,  being  redskins 
of  the  interior,  not  the  light  yellow  of  the  coast. 
When  in  Caribou  Crossing,  old  Bishop  Bompas,  who 
has  spent  more  than  forty  years  among  the  Indians 
of  the  north,  told  me  that  in  his  view  the  coast  In- 
dians had  originally  come  over  from  North  Asia  and 
were  allied  to  the  Mongolian  races,  while  he  believed 
that  the  red-tinged,  eagle-nosed  Indian  of  the  interior 
was  of  Malay  origin  and  of  a  race  altogether  dis- 
tinct. Be  this  as  it  may,  the  coast  Indian,  according 
to  our  preconceived  ideas,  is  no  Indian  at  all,  but 
rather  a  bastard  Jap.  He  fishes  and  hunts  and  works, 
and  his  labor  is  an  important  factor  in  solving  the 
agricultural  problems  of  the  Pacific  Coast.  The 
enormous  and  profitable  hop  crops  could  not  be  gath- 
ered without  him. 

We  had  hoped  while  in  Tacoma  to  have  had  the 
chance  of  visiting  some  of  the  primeval  forest  re- 
gions of  the  State,  where  the  largest  trees  are  yet  in 
undisturbed  growth,  but  the  opportunity  of  taking 
advantage  of  a  railway  excursion  to  Yakima,  there 
to  see  the  State  Fair,  was  too  good  to  be  lost,  and 

we  accordingly  made  that  journey  instead.    Mr.  S 

had  joined  us  in  Tacoma,  so  we  four  bought  excur- 
sion tickets,  and  climbed  into  one  of  eleven  packed 


SEATTLE.  215 

passenger  coaches  of  a  Northern  Pacific  special,  and 
made  the  trip.  Eight  hours  of  it,  due  east  and  south- 
east, across  the  snow-capped  Cascade  Mountains  and 
down  into  the  dry,  arid  Yakima  River  basin  to  the 
city — big  village — of  North  Yakima.  An  arid  val- 
ley, but  yet  green  as  an  Irish  hedge,  a  curious  sight. 
The  hills  all  round  sere  and  brown,  tufted  and 
patched  with  dry  buffalo  grass  and  sage  brush;  the 
flat  bottom  lands  mostly  an  emerald  green;  all  this 
by  irrigation,  the  first  real  irrigation  I  had  yet  seen. 
The  river  is  robbed  of  its  abundant  waters,  which  are 
carried  by  innumerable  ditches,  and  then  again 
divided  and  sub-divided,  until  the  whole  level  ex- 
panse of  wide  valley  is  soaked  and  drenched  and  con- 
verted into  a  smiling  garden.  Here  and  there  a  piece 
of  land,  unwatered,  stretched  brown  and  arid  between 
the  green. 

North  Yakima,  named  from  the  Indian  tribe  that 
still  dwells  hard  by  upon  its  reservation,  is  a  thriv- 
ing little  place,  the  greenest  lawns  of  the  most  vel- 
vety turf,  roses  and  flowers  abounding  where  the 
water  comes.  Trees  shading  its  streets,  which  are 
bounded  on  each  side  by  flowing  gutters,  and  the 
driest,  dustiest,  vacant  lots  on  earth.  The  fair  is  the 
annual  State  show  of  horses,  cattle,  sheep  and  fruits, 
and  these  we  were  glad  to  see.  All  fine,  very  fine, 
and  such  apples  as  I  never  before  set  eyes  on.  Thou- 
sands of  boxes  of  Washington  apples  are  now  shipped 
to  Chicago,  and  even  to  New  York,  so  superior  is 
their  size  and  flavor. 


216  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

Returning,  we  had  an  instance  of  the  insolence  of 
these  great  land  grant  fed  railway  corporations.  While 
the  Northern  Pacific  had  advertised  an  excursion  to 
Yakima  and  hauled  eleven  carloads  of  men,  women 
and  children  to  the  fair,  it  yet  made  no  extra  pro- 
vision to  take  them  back,  so  that  when  next  day  sev- 
eral hundred  were  at  the  station  in  order  to  board 
the  train  for  home,  only  a  few  dozen  could  get  in, 
and  the  very  many  saw  with  dismay  the  train  pull 
away  without  them !  We  had  got  into  a  sleeper  on 
the  rear,  fortunately,  and  thus  escaped  another 
twelve  hours  in  the  overcrowded  little  town. 

Yesterday  we  boarded  the  night  express  for  Port- 
land. The  country  between  this  city  and  Tacoma  is 
said  to  be  rough  and  unsettled,  and  not  fit  for  even 
lumbering  or  present  cultivation,  so  we  did  not  regret 
the  travel  at  night.  On  the  other  hand,  we  saw  much 
fine  forest  in  crossing  the  Cascade  Mountains,  al- 
though the  finest  timber  in  the  State  is,  I  am  told, 
over  in  that  northwestern  peninsula  on  the  slopes  of 
the  Olympia  Mountains,  between  Puget  Sound  and 
the  Pacific.  There  the  trees  grow  big,  very  big,  and 
thence  come  the  more  gigantic  of  the  logs,  fifty  and 
one  hundred  feet  long  and  ten  to  twenty-five  feet  in 
diameter  at  the  butt. 

The  Puget  Sound  cities  are  destined  to  become 
among  the  chief  marts  of  commerce  and  of  trade  upon 
the  Pacific  Coast,  and  they  are  filled  with  an  ener- 
getic, intelligent  population  of  the  nation's  best.  The 
climate,   too,   though   mild,   is  cool   enough    for   the 


SEATTLE.  219 

preservation  of  vigor.  Roses  bloom  all  the  winter 
through  in  Tacoma,  they  tell  me.  And  the  summers 
are  never  overhot.  The  humidity  of  the  atmosphere 
is  the  strangest  thing  to  one  of  us  from  the  East. 
"More  like  England  than  any  other  is  the  climate," 
they  say,  and  the  exquisite  velvet  turf  is  the  best 
evidence  of  this.  But  the  most  wonderful  sight  of 
all  to  my  Kanawha  eyes  was  the  ever-present  snow- 
massed  dome  of  Mt.  Rainier,  lifting  high  into  the 
sky,  sixty  miles  away,  but  looking  distant  not  more 
than  ten. 

The  third  great  center  of  the  life  of  this  north- 
west coast  is  Portland.  Solid,  slow,  rich,  conserva- 
tive. A  hundred  and  twenty  miles  from  the  sea,  but 
yet  a  seaport.  Situated  on  the  Willamette  River, 
six  miles  from  its  confluence  with  the  mighty  Colum- 
bia. Already  Seattle  outstrips  it  in  population,  so 
a  Portland  man  admitted  to  me  to-day,  yet  Portland 
will  always  remain  one  of  the  great  cities  of  the 
coast.  It  possesses  many  miles  of  fine  docks;  the 
waters  about  their  piles  are  not  quiet  and  serene,  but 
swift  and  turbulent,  sometimes  mad  and  dangerous. 
It  has  a  complete  and  extensive  electric  tramway 
system,  and  this  evening  we  have  ridden  many  miles 
about  the  city,  and  up  by  a  cable  road  onto  the 
heights,  a  straight  pull  four  hundred  feet  in  the  air. 
Below  us  lay  the  city,  level  as  a  floor,  the  Willamette 
winding  through  it,  crossed  by  many  steel  draw- 
bridges, while  distant,  to  the  north,  we  could  just 
make  out  the  two-mile-wide  Columbia.     Portland  is  a 


220  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

wealthy  and  substantial  city — a  city  for  the  elderly 
and  well-to-do,  while  Seattle  is  the  city  for  the  young 
man  and  for  the  future. 

The  lesson  we  have  really  been  learning  to-day, 
however,  is  not  so  much  of  Portland  as  of  the  river 
Columbia,  the  really  "mighty  Columbia." 

At  9  :30  we  took  a  train  on  the  Oregon  Shortline 
Railway  up  along  the  Columbia — south  shore — to  the 
locks  at  the  Cascades,  a  three  hours'  run,  and  then 
came  down  again  upon  a  powerful  steamboat  of  the 
Yukon  type,  though  not  so  large.  It  took  us  about 
four  and  one-half  hours  with  only  three  landings 
and  with  the  current.  The  last  fifteen  or  twenty 
miles  of  the  trip  the  river  was  fully  two  miles  wide, 
although  at  the  Cascades  it  had  narrowed  to  be  no 
broader  than  the  Kanawha.  On  either  side  the  val- 
ley was  generally  occupied  by  farms  and  meadows, 
grazing  cattle,  many  orchards,  substantial  farm- 
steads. A  long-time  settled  country  and  naturally 
fertile.  And  along  either  shore,  at  intervals  of  not 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  were  the  fish-traps, 
the  wheels,  the  divers  handy  contrivances  of  man,  to 
catch  the  infatuated  salmon.  Until  I  saw  the  swarm- 
ing waters  of  that  creek  of  Ketchikan,  my  mind  had 
failed  to  comprehend  the  fatuity  of  these  fish.  This 
year,  owing,  they  say,  to  the  influence  of  the  hatch- 
eries established  by  the  Government,  the  catch  of 
salmon  here  has  been  enormous;  so  great,  in  fact, 
that  "hundreds  of  tons"  of  the  salmon  had  to  be 


ALOXG  THE  COLUMBIA  RIVER. 


SEATTLE.  223 

thrown  away,  owing  to  the  inability  of  the  canneries 
to  handle  them  before  they  had  spoiled. 

The  Portland  people  whom  I  have  met  and  talked 
with  all  tell  me  that  even  though  Seattle  secures  the 
Alaskan  trade,  even  though  Seattle  and  Tacoma  ob- 
tain the  lion 's  share  of  the  waxing  commerce  of  China 
and  Japan,  yet  will  Portland  be  great,  because 
she  must  ever  remain  the  mistress  of  the  trade  of 
that  vast  region  drained  by  the  Columbia  and  the 
Willamette,  all  of  whose  products  come  to  her  by 
water,  or  by  a  rail  haul  that  is  wholly  downgrade. 
And  when  I  realize  that  the  Columbia  is  plied  by 
steamboats  even  up  in  Canada,  a  thousand  miles  in- 
land, where  we  traversed  its  valley  on  the  Canadian 
Pacific  Railway,  and  that  when  Uncle  Sam  has  built 
a  few  more  locks,  these  same  boats  can  then  come 
down  to  Portland,  and  Portland  boats  ascend  even 
to  the  Canadian  towns,  as  well  as  traverse  Washing- 
ton and  enter  Idaho  and  Montana,  then  is  it  that  I 
realize  that  the  future  of  this  fine  city  is  most  cer- 
tainly well  assured. 


224  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 


THIRTEENTH  LETTER. 

the  valley  op  the  willamette. 

State  of  Oregon,  the  Yalley  op  the  Willamette,  \ 

October  3,  1903.      / 

From  Portland  to  San  Francisco.     Written  wliile  moving 
tliirty  miles  an  hour  on  the  Southern  Pacific  Railway. 

Here  we  are  flying  due  south  from  Portland,  cross- 
ing the  entire  State  of  Oregon.  We  have  left  Port- 
land on  the  8:30  morning  train — "The  Southern 
Limited" — and  shall  be  in  "Frisco"  at  eight  o'clock 
to-morrow  night.  We  are  now  ascending  the  beautiful 
valley  of  the  Willamette,  ' '  Will-am-ett ; ' '  with  a  fierce 
accent  on  the  am.  Flat  and  level  as  a  table — ten  to 
twenty  miles  wide  and  two  hundred  miles  long,  ly- 
ing between  the  Coast  Range  on  the  west  and  the 
higher  Cascade  Mountains  on  the  east.  A  land  of 
perfect  fertility,  so  gracious  a  country  as  I  have 
never  yet  beheld.  In  winter,  rarely  any  snow,  plenty 
of  rain  and  very  much  moist  Scotch  air.  In  summer, 
a  sunshine  that  ripens  fields  of  wheat,  a  moisture  that 
grows  the  biggest  apples  and  prunes  and  small  fruits. 
Everywhere  neat,  tidy  farmhouses,  big  barns.  Great 
stacks  of  wheat  straw  and  as  big  ones  of  hay,  and 
these  generally  tented  in  with  brown  canvas.  We 
are  passing,  too,  extensive  fields  of  hop  vines,  an  es- 
pecially lucrative  crop  at  present  prices — twenty-five 
cents  a  pound,  while  seven  cents  is  reckoned  as  the 


THE   VALLEY   OF   THE   WILLAMETTE.  225 

cost.  Everywhere  we  see  flocks  of  chickens,  turkeys 
and  some  geese  plucking  the  stubble  fields,  for  the 
crops  are  all  cut  and  harvested.  And  every  now  and 
then  we  espy  a  superb  Mongolian  pheasant  in  gor- 
geous plumage,  for  they  have  become  acclimated  and 
multiply  in  this  salubrious  climate.  Herds  of  fine 
cattle  and  sheep  are  grazing  in  the  meadows,  and  the 
horses  are  large  and  look  well  cared  for.  A  rich,  fat 
land,  filled  with  a  well-to-do  population.  I  have  just 
fallen  into  talk  with  a  young  lawyer  who  lives  at  the 
port  of  Toledo,  whore  Uncle  Sam  is  dredging  the  bar 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Yaquina  River,  and  to  which  city 
new  railroads  are  coming  from  the  interior,  and  where 
they  expect  a  second  Portland  to  grow  up.  He  tells 
me  that  east  of  the  Cascade  Mountains  lie  other  fer- 
tile valleys  west  of  the  Rockies,  and  where  also  is  the 
great  cattle  and  stock  raising  region  of  the  State, 
and  where  moisture  is  precipitated  sufficient  to  save 
the  need  of  irrigation. 

Now  we  are  just  coming  to  the  Umpqua  River  and 
the  town  of  Roseburg — a  garden  full  of  superb  roses 
blooming  by  the  station — where  stages  may  be  taken 
to  the  coast  at  Coos  Bay,  another  growing  seaport 
section,  where  extensive  coal  mining  and  timbering 
prevail.  And  as  the  dusk  grows  we  are  passing  over 
the  divide  to  Rogue  River  and  its  verdant  valley, 
which  we  shall  traverse  in  the  night.  Oregon  is  green 
and  the  verdure  much  like  that  of  England — the 
same  moist  skies,  with  a  hotter  summer  sun  urging 
all  nature  to  do  its  best. 


226  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

In  the  night  we  shall  climb  over  the  Siskiyou 
Mountains,  and  by  dawn  will  be  in  sight  of  Mount 
Shasta,  At  Portland  we  were  amidst  mists  and  fogs 
and  drizzling  rain,  so  we  caught  no  glimpses  of  Mt. 
Hood  and  Mt.  Adams  and  Mt.  St.  Helena  and  Mt. 
Jefferson,  all  of  whose  towering  snow-clad  cones  may 
be  seen  on  a  clear  day.  We  hope  that  to-morrow  Mt. 
Shasta  will  be  less  bashful  and  not  hide  her  white 
head. 

Sunday  a.  m.  ,  October  4th. 

In  California!  We  were  called  at  six  o'clock  that 
we  might  see  Mt,  Shasta,  and  also  have  a  drink  from 
the  famous  waters  of  Shasta  Spring.  Mt.  Shasta  we 
did  not  see,  so  great  were  the  fog  masses  and  mists 
enshrouding  her,  but  we  have  had  a  drink  from  the 
elixir  fountain.  A  water  much  like  the  springs  at 
Addison,  in  Wfebster  County,  W.  Va.,  but  icy  cold. 

Now  we  are  coming  down  the  lovely  valley  of  the 
Sacramento.  A  downgrade  all  the  way  to  "Frisco." 
The  verdure  is  growing  more  tropical.  The  under- 
growth of  the  forests  is  more  and  more  luxuriant. 
I  see  big,  red  lilies  by  the  swift -water-side.  The  air 
is  milder.  We  have  descended  already  1,600  feet 
since  passing  Shasta  Spring.  We  have  five  hundred 
feet  more  to  drop  to  Oakland.  We  are  now  in  a  rug- 
gedly volcanic  mining  country,  many  iron,  lead  and 
copper  mines  and  once  placer  diggings  for  gold,  these 
latter  now  pretty  much  worked  out,  only  a  few  Chi- 
nese laboriously  washing  here  and  there. 


THE   VALLEY   OP   THE   WILLAMETTE.  227 

Now  we  are  at  Keswick  and  see  our  first  groves  of 
figs  and  almonds  and  some  wide-reaching  palms  and 
the  spreading  umbrella-trees,  and  many  prune  or- 
chards. The  valley  is  widening,  the  air  is  warmer 
than  we  have  known  it  for  many  days.  We  are  surely 
in  California. 

I  have  just  been  talking  with  the  brakeman.  He 
has  been  in  Dawson  and  on  the  Klondike.  "Mushed" 
through  the  White  Pass,  but,  after  reaching  Dawson, 
he  lost  heart  and  came  back  again  without  a  stake. 
The  man  who  failed !  Another,  a  big  man,  with  a 
strong  jaw  and  keen  eye,  has  just  climbed  on  the 
rear  platform.  He,  too,  has  been  in  Dawson,  stayed 
one  day,  bought  a  claim  in  the  morning  for  $1,000, 
and  sold  it  in  the  evening  for  $15,000,  and  then  came 
right  back  to  his  almond  groves  to  invest  his  make 
and  thereafter  rest  content  with  California.  The 
man  who  won. 

Near  us  sits  a  black-eyed  Russian  woman,  young 
and  comely,  whose  husband  was  one  of  the  discov- 
erers of  gold  in  Nome,  and  with  her  the  loveliest 
blue-eyed  Norwegian  maiden  just  arrived  from  Ham- 
merfest.  "My  husband's  sister  who  is  come  to 
America  to  stay,"  the  Russian  says  in  perfect  Eng- 
lish. She  is  learning  to  talk  American,  and  wonders 
at  the  huge  cars,  the  multitude  of  people,  the  dis- 
tances— "only  a  few  hours  from  Trondhjem  to  Kris- 
tiania,  but  over  four  days  and  nights  from  New  York 
to  Seattle!"  she  exclaims.     And  her  blue  eyes  grow 


228  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

big  with  wonder  at  the  half -tropical  panorama  now 
unrolling  before  us. 

I  am  writing  this  letter  by  bits  as  we  travel.  We 
are  now  on  a  straight  track,  as  from  my  improved 
handwriting  you  may  detect.  A  stretch  of  thirty- 
seven  miles  straight  as  the  crow  flies.  We  are  past 
the  smaller  fruit  farms  of  the  upper  Sacramento 
Valley;  we  are  out  on  the  interior  plain  that  from 
here  extends  all  down  through  California,  a  thousand 
miles  almost  to  Mexico.  We  are  in  the  wonderful 
garden  land  of  the  State.  On  either  side  of  us 
stretches  away,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  a  flat,  level 
plain.  It  is  one  monstrous  wheat  field,  and  fences 
only  at  rare  intervals  mark  it  into  separate  holdings. 
On  the  east,  far  on  the  sky  line,  extend  the  snow- 
tipped  summits  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  Mountains;  on 
the  west,  the  Coast  Range.  We  have  passed  out  of 
the  region  of  mists  and  clouds,  and  are  now  in  a 
clear,  warm  sunshine,  the  heavens  an  arching  vault 
of  cloudless  blue.  As  clear  as  on  the  Yukon  almost, 
but  with  many  times  the  warmth.  This  is  the  region 
of  the  Mammoth  Bonanza  wheat  farms  you  have  so 
often  read  about.  And  one  feels  that  man  hereabouts 
does  things  in  a  big  way. 

In  Oregon,  they  tell  me,  the  climate  is  so  equable 
that  a  single  blanket  keeps  you  warm  of  night  the 
year  round.  You  need  it  in  summer ;  you  do  not  need 
more  in  winter.  Here,  1  fancy,  you  scarcely  need 
any  at  all,  so  much  further  south  have  we  already 
come. 


THE   VALLEY   OF   THE   WILLAMETTE.  220 

Even  yet  we  are  passing  through  the  wide  stretches 
of  wheat  lands,  wheat  now  milled  in  California  and 
sent  in  many  big  ships  to  the  Orient.  The  Chinaman 
is  just  learning  the  joy  of  an  American  tiap-jack  or 
a  loaf  of  wheat  bread — and  he  can't  get  enough. 

Dusk  has  come  down  upon  us  before  we  have 
reached  Carquinez  Strait,  over  which  our  train — a 
long  train — is  carried  by  a  monstrous  ferry  boat,  and 
then,  skirting  San  Francisco  Bay,  we  are  soon  among 
the  suburban  illuminations  of  Oakland.  Across  the 
five  miles  of  water  lies  San  Francisco,  its  million  glit- 
tering electric  lights  stretching  several  miles  and  cov- 
ering the  hills  on  which  the  city  is  built,  while  far  out 
on  the  right  flashes  the  intermittent  gleam  of  the 
light-houses  marking  the  entrance  of  the  Golden  Gate. 
The  ferry-boat  taking  us  across  is  said  to  be  the  larg- 
est in  the  world,  and  the  Norwegian  lass's  big  blue 
eyes  grow  all  the  bigger  as  she  looks  about  her  on  the 
multitude  of  fellow-passengers.  And  then  we  are 
ashore  and  are  whirling  through  broad,  well-lighted 
streets  to  our  hotel,  ' ' The  Palace, ' '  where  now  we  are. 


230 


IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 


FOURTEENTH   LETTER, 

SAN    FRANCISCO. 

Los  Angeles,  October  12,  1903. 
We  slept  in  the  old,  famous,  and  yet  well-patron- 
ized Palace  Hotel,  and  on  which  the  Fair  estate  has 
just  renewed  a  mortgage  for  another  term  of  years. 

In  the  morning  we  essayed  to  have  a  look  at  the 
city,  and  so  took  a  long,  wide  electric  car  devoted  to 
that  purpose.  A  ride  of  thirty  miles,  and  all  for  the 
price  of  only  "two  bits"!  We  circled  around  the 
city,  we  traversed  its  streets  and  avenues,  climbed 
and  descended  its  multitude  of  hills,  went  every- 
where that  an  electric  car  might  dare  to  go,  and  were 
given  the  chance  to  try  the  cable  trams  when  the 
declivity  was  too  steep  for  anything  to  move  that  did 
not  cling. 

The  sunshine  was  delicious,  the  watered  lawns  and 
watered  flowers  superb,  the  unwatered,  blistered  sand 
spaces,  vacant  lots  and  dust-laden  winds  dreadful. 

The  city  pleased  and  disappointed  me.  It  is  an 
old  city — half  a  century  old — old  for  the  driving 
West,  and  mainly  built  of  wood.  Miles  and  miles  of 
small,  crowded,  two-story,  wooden  dwellings,  sadly 
needing  a  coat  of  paint,  and  mostly  constructed  thirty 
or  forty  years  ago.  A  town  once  replete  with  vigor, 
that  has  slumbered  for  several  decades,  and  is  now 


SAN    FRANCISCO.  231 

reviving  into  life  again.  The  vast  mansions  of  the 
bonanza  kings,  the  railway  lords  on  "Nob  Hill,"  are 
now  all  out  of  date  and  mostly  empty  of  their  former 
occupants.  The  Fairs,  the  Mackeys,  the  O'Briens 
are  dead,  their  heirs  scattered  to  the  winds.  The 
Crokers,  the  Stanfords,  the  Huntingtons  are  rem- 
iniscences. The  street  urchins  know  them  no  more. 
Fashionable  San  Francisco  has  moved  to  another 
hill.  The  tenement  quarter  of  the  town  has  crept  to 
their  very  doors.  But  the  business  section  of  the  city 
has  not  moved  as  it  has  in  New  York.  It  stands  just 
where  it  always  stood.  The  Palace  Hotel,  once  the 
glory  and  boast  of  the  Pacific  Slope,  is  still  the  chief 
hostelry  of  the  town;  and  yet  the  city  is  instinct 
with  a  new  life.  Its  lively,  hustling  thoroughfares 
are  full  of  a  new  vigor;  a  new  tide  of  Asiatic  and 
Oriental  commerce  has  entered  the  somewhat  som- 
nolent city.  All  this,  the  magic  result  of  the  battle 
of  Manila  Bay,  and  the  new  relation  of  the  United 
States  to  the  far  east.  Where  the  Pacific  Mail  S. 
S.  Co.  sent  a  single  monthly  ship  across  the  Pacific 
five  years  ago,  now  six  lines  of  great  freight  and 
passenger  steamships  are  unable  to  satisfy  the  in- 
creasing demands  of  trade.  Now  twenty  steamers 
and  a  multitude  of  sailing  craft  come  to  deliver 
and  take  cargoes,  where  few  or  none  came  six 
years  ago.  On  the  land  side,  too,  there  is  progress. 
The  A.  T.  &  Santa  Fe  Railway  has  broken  through 
the  monopoly  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Railway  Com- 
pany, so  cleverly  and  firmly  fastened  by  Huntington 


232  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

and  his  friends;  and  there  are  hopes  that  other 
lines  may  yet  establish  independent  relations  with 
the  city.  Along  with  this  new  growth  of  commerce 
have  come  a  new  throng  of  energetic  men,  and  new 
fortunes  are  being  made — and  more  widely  dis- 
tributed. The  city,  the  commercial  center,  the  ocean 
port,  are  all  growing  at  a  steadier,  healthier  gait 
than  in  the  ancient  feverish  days  of  bonanza  kings 
and  railroad  magnates.  For  awhile,  San  Francisco 
was  "in  the  soup,"  so  to  speak.  Its  rich  men  were 
leaving  it,  did  leave  it;  its  sand-lots  prole- 
tariat threatened  to  gain  the  upper  hand;  its  mid- 
dle class,  the  people  making  and  possessing  only 
moderate  incomes,  were  doubtful  of  a  success  that 
to  them  had  not  yet  come.  To  the  north,  sleepy 
Portland  had  wakened  up;  Seattle  and  Tacoma 
had  been  born;  and  in  the  south,  Los  Angeles  had 
risen,  like  a  phoenix,  from  the  torrid  sands.  But 
San  Francisco  did  not  stir.  Then  Dewey  sank  the 
fleet  of  Montejo;  the  nation  quickened  with  a  con- 
sciousness that  she  was  a  world-power ;  that  the  trade 
and  commercial  dominance  of  the  Pacific  lands 
and  isles  and  seas  were  rightly  hers,  and  in  a  night 
San  Francisco  found  herself  re-endowed  with  new 
life. 

After  the  tramway  ride,  we  spent  an  afternoon 
strolling  about  through  the  business  streets  and  along 
the  docks  and  wharves,  viewing  the  many  new  shops, 
splendid  modern  stores,  quite  equaling,  in  the  sump- 
tuous   display    of    their    wares,    the    great    trading 


SAN   FRANCISCO.  233 

centers  of  New  York  and  Chicago,  and  noting  the 
volume  of  wholesale  traffic  on  the  down-town  streets, 
the  jobbing  center,  and  the  busy  stir  along  the  water- 
front for  several  miles. 

No  finer  sight  have  we  seen  than  when  we  stood 
near  the  surf-washed  rocks,  famous  as  the  home  of 
the  sea-lions,  and,  turning  our  gaze  toward  the  wind- 
tossed  billows  of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  beheld  eight 
or  ten  full-rigged  ships  and  four-masted  barques  con- 
verging on  the  narrow  entrance  of  the  Golden  Gate, 
coming  in  out  of  the  west,  laden  with  the  teas  and 
silks  and  commerce  of  the  Orient,  their  multitudi- 
nous sails  all  set  before  the  breeze,  like  a  flock  of 
white-winged  sea  birds,  while  slipping  among  them 
a  steamer  from  Honolulu  and  another  from  Nome 
came  swiftly  in. 

Another  day  we  were  ferried  five  miles  across  the 
wide  bay  toward  the  north,  to  the  pretty  suburban 
residence  section  of  Sausalito,  and  there  taking  an 
electric  road  were  brought  to  the  foot  of  Mount 
Tamalpais,  and  then  changing  to  a  climbing  car  were 
pushed  ten  miles  up  near  4,000  feet  into  the  air, 
to  the  top  of  a  volcanic  cone  that  rises  out  of 
sea  and  bay,  and  dominates  the  landscape  for  many 
miles.  Below  us,  at  our  feet,  lay  the  great  Bay 
of  San  Francisco  and  the  city  itself,  with  its  green, 
garden-like  suburban  villages,  the  many  islands,  the 
ships  of  war  and  of  commerce,  the  narrows  of  the 
Golden  Gate;  and,  westward,  the  Pacific  Ocean,  with 
the  distant  Farallon  Islands,  outposts  of  the  Orient, 


234  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 

while  far  to  the  east,  peeping  above  the  clouds, 
gleamed  the  snow-capped  summits  of  the  Sierra 
Nevadas. 

Another  day,  we  visited  the  Presidio,  and  rejoiced 
to  see  the  blue  uniform  of  Uncle  Sam  after  the  many- 
weeks  of  red  coats  upon  the  Yukon.  Say  what  you 
may,  it  quickens  the  blood  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
our  boys  in  blue.  I  well  remember  how  good  it 
seemed  when  we  met  them  in  command  of  the  fortress 
of  El  Moro,  at  Havana,  two  years  ago. 

We  also  spent  a  night  in  Chinatown — or  part  of 
the  night — for  we  were  bound  to  see  its  horrors  and 
its  joys.  The  opium  dens — a  picture  of  Hop  Sing 
and  his  cat,  the  beast  also  a  victim  of  the  habit — 
I  bring  home  to  you;  the  theatre,  where  the  audi- 
ence and  the  actors  were  equally  interesting;  the  Joss 
house  or  temple;  the  lady  with  the  tiny  feet,  one 
of  whose  midget  shoes  I  took  off  and  have  to  show 
you;  the  barber  shop  where  they  shave  the  head  and 
scrape  out  the  ears  and  nose ;  the  many  handsome 
shops  and  almost  priceless  curios;  and  the  swarms 
of  bright-eyed,  laughing,  friendly,  gentle  children. 

While  the  Chinese  upon  the  Pacific  Coast,  and  in 
San  Francisco  more  particularly,  have  been  greatly 
lessened  in  number  the  last  few  years,  it  is  interest- 
ing to  note  how  many  of  the  more  progressive  Japan- 
ese are  now  to  be  seen  in  all  of  the  great  cities 
along  the  Pacific  coast.  In  Vancouver,  all  of  the  bell 
boys  and  elevator  boys  in  the  large  Hotel  Vancouver 
were  bright-eyed  Japs.     Keen,  intelligent,  wide-awake 


A  BIG  REDWOOD. 


SAN    FRANCISCO.  237 

little  fellows,  speaking  good  English,  dressed  in 
American  style,  and  seeming  to  know  their  business 
perfectly.  We  saw  them  at  Seattle  and  Tacoma  and 
Portland,  and  now  we  find  them  in  large  numbers 
in  San  Francisco.  They  get  along  well  with  the 
white  man.  They  dress  like  him,  eat  like  him,  walk 
like  him,  and  try  to  look  as  much  like  him  as  pos- 
sible. They  seek  employment  as  servants,  as  day 
laborers,  and  are  also  getting  extensively  into  trade 
in  a  small  way.  They  keep  prices  up  like  a  white 
man  and  join  labor  unions  like  the  white  man,  and 
sympathetically  act  with  him  to  a  degree  that  elim- 
inates the  prejudice  that  hedges  in  and  drives  out 
the  Chinaman.  The  Japanese  seem  to  supply  a  genu- 
ine want  in  the  Pacific  slope.  I  learned,  also,  that 
Japanese  capital  is  now  coming  into  California  and 
making  substantial  investments,  the  expenditure  of 
their  money  giving  employment  to  American  white 
labor. 

Coming  down  the  Sacramento  Valley  the  other 
day,  I  noticed  that  all  the  labor  gangs  employed  by 
the  Southern  Pacific  Railroad  were  Greeks,  dull-look- 
ing Greeks  who  could  speak  no  English.  It  seemed 
to  me  as  I  looked  into  their  semi-Oriental  faces,  that 
they  gave  less  promise  of  satisfactory  American  citi- 
zenship than  did  the  up-to-date,  alert,  intelligent 
Japanese.  The  one  represented  a  semi-Oriental  coun- 
try, whose  greatness  was  destroyed  by  Rome  two 
thousand  years  ago;  the  other  expressed  the  awak- 
ened intelligence  of  the  new  Orient,  the  new  Japan 


238  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

whose  great  modern  navy  to-day  ranks  first  upon  the 
Pacific. 

That  night  when  we  first  crossed  the  bay  toward 
the  long  line  of  glittering  city,  the  tall  Norwegian 
said  to  me :  "I  have  sailed  all  about  this  world  and 
visited  many  cities,  but  San  Francisco  suits  me  the 
very  best  of  them  all.  And  his  black-eyed  Tartar 
wife  from  Moscow  exclaimed:  "Ah,  I  will  never  leave 
here  till  I  die."  All  who  visit  San  Francisco  feel 
this  subtle  charm.  There  is  a  certain  something  in 
the  air  that  soothes  as  well  as  stirs.  Its  lawns  and 
flowers  where  water  is  applied ;  its  sunshine,  never 
too  hot,  for  it  is  tempered  by  the  breezes  from  the  sea ; 
no  winter,  rarely  a  dash  of  snow;  no  torrid  sun;  an 
atmosphere  almost  gentle,  yet  not  destroying  energy. 

Leaving  San  Francisco,  we  took  the  little  narrow- 
gauge  railway  that  leads  out  south  of  the  city,  skirts 
the  bay  and  climbs  the  Coast  Range  through  the  fa- 
mous grove  of  immense  redwood  trees  that  comes 
down  to  the  sea  at  Santa  Cruz.  A  pretty  village 
among  gardens  and  orchards  of  prunes  and  apricots 
and  almonds,  famous  for  its  flowers  and  its  fish.  On 
the  long  pier  we  watched  the  Italian  fishermen  mend- 
ing their  nets  and  loading  them  into  their  lateen- 
sailed  boats.  Here  the  rainbow-hued  Barroda  is 
caught  in  the  deep  sea  and  shipped  to  the  city ;  while, 
sitting  all  along  the  pier,  were  old  folks  and  young 
catching  smelts  with  hook  and  line.  An  old  man  with 
long,  white  beard  said  to  me,  as  he  took  off  a  smelt 
and  put  it  in  his  creel,  "If  a  man  has  nothing  to  do 


ITALIAN    FISHING  CRAFT  AT  SANTA  CRUZ. 


APPROACHING  SAN  FRANCISCO. 


SAN   FRANCISCO.  241 

but  just  to  live,  this  is  the  most  salubrious  spot  along 
this  coast.    I  've  tried  them  all. ' ' 

From  Santa  Cruz  we  went  over  to  the  quaint  old 
Spanish  town  of  Monterey,  once  California's  capital, 
now  the  barrack  sanitarium  of  Uncle  Sam's  soldier 
boys,  and  upon  whose  quiet  main  street  still  dwells 
the  Mexican-Spanish  beauty  to  whom  Tecumseh  Sher- 
man once  made  love,  and  in  whose  garden  yet  grows 
the  pomegranate  he  planted  in  token  of  their  tryst. 
She  has  never  wed,  but  treasures  yet  the  memory  of 
her  soldier  lover. 

Near  Monterey  is  that  marvelously  lovely  park, 
surrounding  the  great  Del  Monte  Hotel,  built  by 
Crocker  and  Stanford  and  Huntington  in  their  days 
of  power,  and  where,  among  groves  and  lawns  and 
gardens,  winds  the  seventeen-mile  drive  of  which  the 
world  has  heard  so  much.  Imagine  the  parks  of  Blen- 
heim and  Chatsworth  and  Windsor  all  combined,  but 
filled  with  palmettos  and  palms  and  semi-tropical 
verdure — giant  live  oaks  and  Norfolk  pines  and 
splendid  redwood,  with  all  the  flowers  of  the  earth, 
with  ponds  and  fountains,  and  you  will  have  some 
faint  conception  of  the  beauty  of  Del  Monte,  an  ob- 
ject-lesson of  what  the  landscape  gardener  may  do  in 
California.  We  regretted  leaving  this  superb  place, 
but  were  glad  to  have  had  even  a  glimpse  of  it. 

All  the  day  we  now  hastened  south  on  the  flying 
"Coast  Limited,"  bound  for  Santa  Barbara.  First 
ascending  the  broad  valley  of  Salinas  River,  the 
Coast  Range  close  on  our  right,  a  higher  range  of 


242  IN   TO   THE  YUKON. 

mountains  on  our  left,  until,  converging,  we  pierced 
the  barrier  by  a  long  tunnel  and  slid  down  to  San 
Louis  Obispo  and  then  to  the  sea.  Many  monstrous 
fields  of  sugar  beet,  miles  of  prune  and  almond  and 
apricot  trees,  thriving  orchards  all  of  them ;  then  mile 
after  mile  of  wheat  stubble,  stacks  of  wheat  straw, 
piles  of  sacked  wheat  at  the  by-stations ;  then  herds 
of  cattle  and  many  horses  as  we  reached  the  head  of 
the  valley.  A  rich  and  fecund  land,  held  originally 
in  big  estates,  now  beginning  to  be  cut  up  into  the 
smaller  farms  of  the  fruit  growers. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  afternoon  we  were  skirting 
along  by  the  breaker-lashed  coast  of  the  Pacific.  A 
clear  sky,  a  violent  wind  and  tempestuous,  foam- 
covered  sea.  We  sat  with  the  windows  open,  not 
minding  the  heat  of  the  sun.  The  tide  was  at  ebb, 
and  upon  the  sand  we  saw  many  sea  birds,  gulls  in 
myriads,  snipe,  plover,  yellow-legs,  sand-pipers  in 
flocks,  coots  and  curlew.  We  also  passed  a  number  of 
carriages  driving  close  to  the  receding  waters. 

The  country  grew  constantly  warmer,  the  soil  re- 
sponding to  cultivation  with  more  and  more  luxuriant 
crops ;  among  these,  fields  of  lima  beans,  miles  of  them, 
which  are  threshed  out  and  shipped  in  enormous 
quantity.  It  was  dark  when  we  drew  in  at  Santa 
Barbara,  and  we  did  not  know  what  hotel  to  go  to, 
but,  tossing  up,  chose  the  Potter.  Many  runners  were 
calling  their  hostelries;  the  Potter  porter  alone  was 
silent.  As  we  drove  in  his  'bus  through  the  palm- 
bordered  streets,  a  cozy  home  showing  here  and  there 


OUR    FRANCISCAN   GUIDE. 


THE  FRANCISCAN   GARDEN — SANTA    BARBARA. 


THE   SEA — SANTA   BARBARA. 


THE  SEA— SANTA  BARBARA. 


SAN   FRANCISCO.  .247 

in  the  glare  of  an  electric  street  light,  we  wondered 
what  our  luck  would  be.  Imagine  our  delight  when 
we  drew  up  at  the  stately  portal  of  a  modern  palace, 
built  in  the  Spanish  style  and  right  on  the  borders  of 
the  sea.  The  moon  was  almost  full,  the  tide  near 
flood,  the  sunset  breeze  had  died,  the  sea  air  soft  and 
sweet,  and  the  palace  ours!  A  new  hotel,  two  mil- 
lions its  cost,  no  finer  on  the  Pacific  Coast.  And  in 
this  off  season  the  prices  were  most  moderate.  No- 
where yet  have  we  been  so  sumptuously  housed.  In 
the  lovely  dining-room  we  sat  at  supper  by  a  big 
window  looking  out  over  the  moonlit  sea. 

In  the  morning  we  wandered  far  down  upon  the 
beach,  watching  the  breakers  beyond  the  point,  and 
later  went  up  to  the  famous  old  Franciscan  Monas- 
tery, a  mile  beyond  the  town.  A  shrewd  yet  simple 
father  in  brown  monk's  robe  who  asked  many  ques- 
tions of  the  outside  world,  showed  us  all  about,  and 
in  the  garden  stood  for  his  photograph,  quite  pleased 
at  the  attention.  No  more  charming  wintering  spot 
have  we  yet  come  to  than  Santa  Barbara. 

In  the  late  evening  we  entrained  again  and  took  the 
local  for  Los  Angeles.  For  quite  an  hour  and  a  half 
we  ran  close  to  the  ocean,  the  perpetual  breaking  of 
the  crested  waves  upon  the  shore  sounding  above  the 
roar  of  the  moving  train.  A  yet  greener  land  we  now 
passed  through,  everywhere  watered  by  irrigation, 
everywhere  responding  with  seemingly  greater  luxu- 
riance. It  was  just  dusk  as  we  turned  inland,  and 
quite  dark  when  we  came  through  the  big  tunnel  into 


248  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

the  head  waters  of  the  Los  Angeles  Valley.  Just  then 
a  bright  young  fellow  sat  down  beside  me,  and,  talk- 
ing with  him,  I  was  pleased  to  find  him  from  West 
Virginia.  A.  Judy,  from  Pendleton  County.  A  few 
years  ago  the  family  had  come  to  this  southern 
land  and  all  have  prospered.  He  was  full  of  the  zest 
of  the  life  that  wins. 

Presently  we  came  to  many  lights  among  shade 
trees,  mostly  palms,  then  houses  and  more  lights,  wide 
streets  showing  themselves.  We  were  in  Los  Angeles, 
the  metropolis  of  Southern  California,  the  furthest 
south  that  on  this  journey  we  shall  go. 


LOS  ANGELES.  249 


FIFTEENTH  LETTER. 

LOS   ANGELES. 

Los  Angeles,  October  13,  1903. 

We  slept  in  Los  Angeles  with  our  windows  wide 
open  and  felt  no  chill  in  the  dry,  balmy  air,  although 
a  gentle  breeze  from  seaward  sifted  through  the  lace 
curtains  all  night  long.  The  sun  was  streaming  in 
when  at  last  we  awoke  to  the  sound  of  New  England 
church  bells.  We  breakfasted  on  plates  piled  high 
with  big,  red,  sweet  strawberries,  dead  ripe,  evenly 
ripe,  but  not  one  whit  over  ripe.  A  ripeness  and 
sweetness  we  have  never  before  tasted,  even  in  Ox- 
ford. In  Seattle  and  Tacoma  we  met  the  royal  crab 
of  the  Puget  Sound,  and  found  him  big  and  bigger 
than  the  crabs  of  England  and  of  France — big  as 
dinner  plates,  all  of  them,  and  now  we  find  in  the 
great,  luscious  strawberry  of  Los  Angeles  another 
American  product  as  big  as  those  that  grow  in  the 
gardens  of  merrie  England. 

Los  Angeles !  How  can  I  tell  you  of  it  and  of  the 
lovely  region  of  the  American  Riviera  all  round  about 
it?  My  ideas  of  Los  Angeles  had  been  indefinite.  I 
had  only  heard  of  it.  I  only  knew  that  up  in  Dawson 
and  in  Alaska  the  frost-stung  digger  for  gold  dreams 
of  Southern  California  and  the  country  of  Los  An- 
geles, and  when,  during  his  seven  long  months  of  win- 


250  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 

ter  and  darkness,  he  assures  himself  of  his  stake  and 
his  fortune,  he  talks  of  the  far  south  and  prepares  to 
go  there  and  to  end  his  days  among  these  orange 
groves  and  olive  orchards  and  teeming  gardens.  And 
when  he  dies — so  it  is  said — every  good  Yukoner  and 
Alaskan  has  no  other  prayer  than  to  be  translated  to 
Southern  California!  So  I  had  imagined  much  for 
this  perhaps  most  charming  of  all  regions  of  the  semi- 
tropics,  within  the  immediate  borders  of  the  United 
States.  But  I  had  not  yet  conceived  the  fine,  modern 
city  among  all  of  this  delight  of  climate  and  of  ver- 
dure. A  city  with  broad,  asphalted  business  streets, 
built  up  on  either  side  with  new,  modern  sky-scrapeis 
far  exceeding  in  bigness  those  of  San  Francisco.  The 
edifices  bordering  Market  Street  in  San  Francisco  are 
fine,  but  old  in  type — most  or  all  erected  thirty  or 
forty  years  ago — while  the  many  huge  blocks  of  Los 
Angeles  are  as  up  to  date  as  those  of  New  York.  It 
possesses  two  hundred  miles  of  modern  electric  tram- 
ways, and  H.  E.  Huntington  has  sold  out  his  holdings 
in  the  Southern  Pacific  left  him  by  his  uncle,  C.  P. 
Huntington,  and  has  put  and  is  now  putting  his  mil- 
lions into  the  electric  tramway  system  of  Los  An- 
geles. 

During  the  morning  we  rode  some  thirty  miles 
upon  the  tourist's  car,  seeing  the  city,  its  many  fine 
parks,  its  public  buildings,  its  business  blocks,  its  ex- 
traordinary extent  of  imposing  residences.  And  when 
we  might  ride  no  longer,  we  strolled  on  through 
Adams  Street  and  Chester  Place  and  St.  James  Place, 


MAREXGO   AVEXUF — PASADENA. 


STREET   VIEW — LOS  ANGELES. 


LOS    ANGELES.  253 

and  among  those  sections  of  the  residence  quarter 
where  no  tramways  are  allowed  to  profane  the  public 
way.  And  here  among  these  modern  palaces,  perhaps, 
we  learned  to  comprehend  the  real  inwardness  of  Los 
Angeles'  astonishing  growth,  for  many  of  these  superb 
homes  are  not  built  and  owned  by  the  business  men 
making  fortunes  out  of  the  commerce  of  the  city,  but 
are  built  and  owned  by  those  who  have  already  ac- 
quired fortunes  in  other  parts  of  the  United  States 
and  of  the  world,  and  who  by  reason  of  the  genial 
climate  of  Southern  California,  have  come  here  to 
live  out  the  balance  of  their  days.  Their  incomes  are 
derived  from  sources  elsewhere  than  in  California, 
and  they  spend  freely  of  those  incomes  in  the  region 
of  their  new  homes.  The  exquisite  lawns,  the  flower- 
ing shrubs,  the  tropical  and  semi-tropical  palms  and 
palmettos,  all  kept  and  cared  for  by  means  of  the 
constant  use  of  water  and  expert  gardeners'  skill,  give 
to  the  city  a  residence  section  of  marvelous  charm. 
Water  does  it  all,  and  man  helps  the  water. 

Los  Angeles  possesses  many  fine  churches  and 
schools  and  two  flourishing  colleges.  One  run  by  the 
Methodist  Church ;  the  other  under  the  control  of  the 
State.  From  a  city  of  twenty-five  thousand  in  1890, 
Los  Angeles  is  now  grown  to  one  hundred'  and  twenty- 
five  thousand,  and  is  still  expanding  by  leaps  and 
bounds.  It  is  the  center  of  the  gardens  and  orchards 
and  citrus  fruit  trade  of  Southern  California,  and  is 
the  Mecca  toward  whose  environs  comes  in  perpetual 


254  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

procession  the  unending  army  of  the  world's  "One 
Lungers,"  and  their  friends. 

Of  an  afternoon  we  rode  out  to  Pasadena  in  the 
swift,  through  electric  train.  Once  a  separate  com- 
munity, now  already  become  a  suburb  of  the  greater 
growing  city.  "The  finest  climate  on  the  earth,"  they 
say,  and  mankind  from  all  parts  of  the  earth  are 
there  to  prove  it.  A  large  town  of  residences,  each 
standing  apart  in  its  own  garden;  many  surrounded 
by  oranges  and  pomegranates  and  figs.  Lovely  homes 
and  occupied  by  a  cultivated  society. 

We  did  not  tarry  to  see  the  celebrated  ostrich  farm, 
which  is  one  of  the  famous  sights  of  Pasadena,  but 
went  on  toward  the  mountain  chain  beyond  and  north 
of  Pasadena  to  the  base  of  towering  Mount  Low,  and 
climbed  right  up  its  face  a  thousand  feet  on  an  in- 
clined plane  steeper  than  any  of  Kanawha's,  and  then 
another  thousand  feet  by  five  miles  of  winding  electric 
railway.  A  wonderful  ride  into  the  blue  sky,  with  a 
yet  more  wonderful  panorama  stretching  for  many 
miles  beneath  our  feet.  All  the  valley  of  the  Los 
Angeles,  the  innumerable  towns  and  villages  and 
farms  and  groves  and  orchards  and  vineyards  stretch- 
ing far  as  the  eye  could  see  until  bounded  by  the 
mountains  of  Mexico  to  the  south,  and  the  shimmering 
waters  of  the  Pacific  to  the  west,  and  to  the  north  and 
east  a  limitless  expanse  of  scarred  and  serrated  vol- 
canic mountain  ranges,  like  the  gigantic  petrified 
waves  of  a  mighty  sea.  Below  us  the  perfect  verdure 
of  irrigated  land,  the  patches  and  masses  of  green- 


LOS   ANGELES.  255 

ness  everywhere  threaded  and  interspersed  by  the  ir- 
rigating ditches  and  pools  and  ponds  whereby  the 
precious  water  is  impounded  and  distributed  when 
used. 

Los  Angeles  lies  very  near  the  center  of  an  im- 
mense cove,  whose  sea  line  marks  the  great  indenture 
on  the  southwest  of  the  United  States,  where  the  coast 
bends  in  from  Cape  Conception  and  curves  southeast- 
ward to  the  borders  of  Mexico,  a  total  coastal  frontage 
on  the  Pacific  Ocean  of  near  three  hundred  miles. 

On  the  north,  the  mountains  of  the  Coast  Range, 
and  the  westward  jutting  spurs  of  the  Sierra  Ne- 
vada come  together  and  form  a  barrier  against  the 
cold  northern  airs.  Eastward  their  extension  forms  a 
high  barrier  against  the  colder  airs  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tain region.  Los  Angeles  lies  at  about  the  point  where 
these  protecting  mountain  ranges  recede  to  near  sixty 
miles  from  the  sea,  itself  some  twenty  and  thirty  miles 
from  the  twin  ports  of  Santa  Monica  and  San  Pedro, 
and  is  the  commercial  center  of  this  rich  alluvial  and 
sheltered  region,  of  which  Santa  Barbara,  on  a  lovely 
bay,  is  the  chief  northern  center,  and  San  Diego,  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  the  south,  upon  the  second 
finest  harbor  in  California,  is  the  most  southern  port 
and  trade  outlet.  A  vast  "ventura,"  as  the  Span- 
iards called  it,  upon  this  fertile  plain  and  rolling 
upland  anything  will  grow  if  only  it  has  water.  For 
three  or  four  months  in  the  year,  from  early  Novem- 
ber to  March,  the  skies  pour  down  an  ample  rainfall, 
and  the  world  is  a  garden.     During  the  other  eight 


256  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

months,  man — the  active  American — now  irrigates 
the  land  with  water  stored  during  the  rainy  season, 
and  thus  a  perpetual  and  prolific  yield  is  won  from 
the  fecund  soil.  Here  the  famous  seedless  orange  was 
discovered,  perpetuated,  and  has  become  the  most 
coveted  citrous  fruit.  Fortunes  have  been  made  from 
the  raising  of  these  oranges  alone.  The  immense  and 
fragrant  strawberries  ripen  every  month  the  year 
round.  Figs  and  pomegranates  abound.  Apples, 
pears,  olives  and  grapes  yield  enormous  and  profitable 
crops.  No  frosts,  no  drouths.  Last  year  Los  Angeles 
and  its  contributing  orchards  shipped  twenty-five 
thousand  carloads  of  citrous  fruit.  This  year  they 
reckon  to  do  yet  more.  Their  capacity  is  only  lim- 
ited by  the  markets'  demand,  and  both  seem  boundless. 
The  air  is  dry  like  that  of  the  Yukon  Valley,  and 
similarly,  extremes  of  temperature  are  easily  borne. 
It  is  never  unpleasantly  hot  in  Southern  California, 
they  say,  just  as  the  Yukoner  vows  he  never  suffers 
from  the  cold.  "Only  give  us  water  to  wash  our 
gold;"  "water  to  irrigate  our  crops,"  cries  each, 
"and  we  will  become  richer  than  the  mind  of  man 
can  think."  But  the  types  of  men  and  women  are 
somewhat  different  in  the  two  extremes.  A  sturdier 
race  wins  fortune  from  the  soil  in  the  Klondike  land; 
there  the  children  have  rosier  faces  and  are  more 
alert.  On  the  crowded  streets  of  the  southern  city 
the  pale  presence  of  the  "one  lungers"  is  at  once  re- 
marked.   But  for  this,  the  people  might  be  the  same. 


LOS    ANGELES.  257 

We  left  this  gracious  garden  land,  with  its  gentle 
climate,  by  the  midday  train,  this  time  leaving  the 
coast  and  following  the  interior  San  Joaquin  Valley 
route.  Just  at  the  outskirts  of  the  city  our  train 
halted  a  moment,  and,  looking  from  the  window,  I 
saw  a  most  astonishing  spectacle — an  extensive  enclo- 
sure with  a  large,  wide-roofed  building  in  its  midst, 
and  enclosure,  roof  and  air  all  thick  with  myriads  of 
pigeons.  Here  is  the  greatest  pigeon  roost  of  the 
world,  where  an  enterprising  bird  lover  raises  squabs 
by  the  thousands,  cans  them  in  his  own  factory,  and 
sends  them  all  over  the  earth  to  the  delight  of  the 
epicure.  Just  why  such  myriads  of  birds  should  not 
fly  away,  I  do  not  know,  but  there  they  were  covering 
the  ground,  the  roof,  and  filling  the  air  in  circular 
flights,  and  seemed  rarely  or  never  to  leave  the  borders 
of  the  enclosure. 

For  a  few  hours  we  retraced  our  way  and  then 
turned  eastward  across  the  edge  of  the  great  Mojave 
Desert.  Crossing  the  barrier  of  the  San  Fernando 
Mountains  on  the  north,  through  a  mile-and-a-half- 
long  tunnel,  we  left  the  greenness  of  olive  grove  and 
orange  orchard  behind,  and  came  out  into  a  contin- 
ually more  and  more  arid  country.  Cactus  and  yucca 
began  to  appear  and  to  multiply,  the  dwarf  shrunken 
palmetto  of  the  Mexican  plains  grew  more  and  more 
plentiful,  and  then  we  came  through  dry,  parched 
gulches  and  canons,  out  onto  a  dead  flat  plain  stretch- 
ing away  toward  the  eastern  horizon  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see — sand  and  sage  brush  and  stunted  cactus; 


258  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

a  hundred  miles  or  more  away  a  faint  blue  mountain 
range  showing  in  the  slanting  sunlight  against  the 
eastern  sky.  Dry  and  arid  and  hopeless  to  man  and 
beast.  A  terrible  waste  to  cross,  or  even  to  enter,  and 
lifeless  and  desolate  beyond  concept. 

During  the  night  we  crossed  over  the  high,  arid 
Tehachapi  Mountains  and  descended  into  the  San  Joa- 
quin Valley,  traversing  that  wonderfully  fertile  gar- 
den land  until  in  the  morning  we  were  at  Oakland. 
We  then  crossed  the  five  miles  of  wide  harbor  and 
took  our  last  breakfast  in  the  city  of  the  Golden  Gate. 

After  night  had  fallen  and  I  sat  with  my  cigar,  I 
chanced  to  fall  in  with  an  interesting  young  Jap, 
"R.  Onishi,"  on  his  first  visit  to  America,  correspond- 
ent of  the  "Jije  Shimpo,"  Tokio's  greatest  daily 
newspaper.  He  had  come  over  to  investigate  the  grow- 
ing rice  plantations  of  T&xas,  with  a  view  to  Japan- 
ese capital  becoming  interested  in  development  there. 
He  had  been  much  impressed  with  the  opportunity 
there  offered,  and  should  report  favorably  on  the 
proposed  enterprise.  Not  to  use  Japanese  labor,  but 
for  Japanese  capital  under  Japanese  management  to 
use  American  labor.  So  does  the  opportunity  and 
natural  wealth  of  our  country  begin  to  attract 
the  investment  of  the  stored  wealth  of  Asia  as  well 
as  of  Europe.  Like  the  rice  dealer  I  met  on  the 
"Kaiser  Frederich, "  crossing  the  Atlantic  two  years 
ago,  Mr.  Onishi  said  that  American  rice  brings  the 
highest  price  of  any  in  the  markets  of  the  world,  and 
he  looks  for  a  large  export  trade  to  Asia  of  American 


SAN    FRANCISCO    AND    SALT    LAKE    CITY.  259 

rice,  as  well  as  wheat.  And  America,  how  vast  and 
rich  and  hopeful  a  land  it  seemed  to  him! 

I  have  now  seen  almost  the  entire  Pacific  Coast  of 
our  Northern  American  Continent.  From  Skagway, 
from  Dawson  to  the  sight  of  Mexico.  Its  old  and  its 
new  towns  and  cities,  its  ports  and  trade  centers  have 
I  visited,  and  greatly  has  the  journey  pleased  and 
profited  me.  The  dim  perception  of  our  future  Pa- 
cific power  that  first  dawned  upon  me  at  Vancouver 
has  now  become  a  settled  conviction.  We  are  just 
beginning  to  comprehend  the  future  dominance  and 
potency  of  our  nation  in  Oriental  trade,  in  commerce, 
in  wealth,  in  enlightened  supremacy.  And  it  fills  the 
imagination  with  boundless  sweep  to  contemplate 
what  are  the  possibilities  of  these  great  Pacific  States. 

Among  the  cities  of  the  future  upon  the  Pacific 
Coast,  Seattle  and  Los  Angeles  are  the  two  that  im- 
press me  as  affording  the  wider  opportunity  and  cer- 
tainty of  growth,  wealth  and  controlling  influence 
in  trade,  in  commerce,  in  politics.  If  I  were  a  young 
man  just  starting  out,  I  should  choose  one  of  them, 
and  in  and  through  Seattle  I  believe  there  is  the  larger 
chance.  Or  if  I  were  on  life's  threshold  and,  say, 
twenty-five  and  vigorous,  I  would  pitch  my  tent 
within  the  confines  of  the  continent  of  Alaska,  and  by 
energy,  thrift  and  foresight,  become  one  of  its  innu- 
merable future  millionaires. 


260  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 


SIXTEENTH    LETTER. 

SAN   FRANCISCO    AND    SALT    LAKE    CITY. 

Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  October  14,  1903. 
We  left  San  Francisco  on  the  "Overland  Limited" 
train,  taking  the  ten  o'clock  boat  across  the  bay  to 
Oakland  and  there  entering  our  car.  It  was  a  lovely 
morning;  the  sky,  blue,  without  a  cloud;  the  sun, 
brilliant,  and  not  so  hot  as  at  Los  Angeles.  The  city, 
as  we  receded  from  it,  lay  spread  before  us,  stretch- 
ing several  miles  along  the  water  and  quite  covering 
the  range  of  hills  upon  which  it  is  built.  Many 
great  ships  were  at  the  quays,  many  were  anchored 
out  in  the  blue  waters  awaiting  their  turn  to  take 
on  cargo,  and  among  these  several  battleships  and 
cruisers  of  our  navy  and  one  big  monitor.  Above 
the  city  hung  a  huge  black  pall  of  smoke,  for  soft 
coal — very  soft — and  thick  asphaltic  oil  are  the  only 
fuels  on  this  coast.  We  had  come  to  San  Francisco 
by  night,  and  marveled  at  the  myriad  of  electric 
lights  that  illumined  it;  we  now  left  it  by  day, 
and  yet  more  fully  realized  its  metropolitan  and 
commercial  greatness. 

The  ride,  this  time,  was  not  along  the  northern 
breadth  of  the  Sacramento  Valley,  but  by  the  older 
route  through  the  longer  settled  country  to  the  south 
of  it.     Still  many  immense  wheatfields,  hundreds  of 


SAN    FRANCISCO    AND    SALT    LAKE    CITY.  261 

sheep  browsing  among  the  stubble,  and  yet  more  of 
the  orchards  of  almonds,  prunes,  apricots,  figs  and 
peaches.  A  monstrous  fruit  garden,  for  more  than 
one  hundred  miles;  and  everywhere  fruit  was  dry- 
ing in  the  sun,  spread  out  in  acres  of  small  trays. 

At  Sacramento,  we  crossed  the  river  on  a  long  iron 
bridge,  and  noted  the  many  steamboats  along  the 
wharves — the  river  is  navigable  thus  far  for  steam- 
boats— boats  about  the  size  of  our  Kanawha  packets, 
and  flows  with  a  swift  current. 

After  leaving  San  Francisco,  we  began  that  long 
ascent,  which  at  last  should  carry  us  over  the  passes 
of  the  Sierra  Nevada  Mountains  some  6,000  feet  above 
the  sea.  The  grades  are  easy,  though  persistent,  the 
track  sweeping  around  mountain  bases  and  along 
deep  valleys  in  wide  ascending  curves.  All  the  day, 
till  evening,  we  were  creeping  up,  up,  up,  following 
one  long  ridge  and  then  another,  the  distant  snow 
summits  always  before  us  and  seemingly  never  much 
nearer  than  at  first.  The  lower  slopes  were,  like 
the  Sacramento  Valley,  everywhere  covered  with  well- 
kept  orchards,  and  everywhere  we  noted  the  universal 
irrigation  ditches  of  running  water,  constantly  pres- 
ent beside  us  or  traversing  our  way. 

As  we  climbed  higher  we  began  to  see  evidences  of 
present  and  past  placer  mining,  many  of  the  moun- 
tain-sides being  scarred  and  riven  by  the  monitor- 
thrown  jets  of  water. 

Just  as  the  shadows  began  to  fall  aslant  the 
higher  valleys,  we  commenced  that  long  and  irksome 


262  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

journeying  through  the  snowsheds  that,  for  so  many- 
miles,  are  necessary  on  this  road.  Coming  over  the 
Canadian  Pacific,  we  met  few  snowsheds  through 
the  Rockies,  and  not  more  than  two  or  three  of 
them  in  the  Selkirks,  but  here  they  buried  us  early 
and  held  on  until  long  after  the  fall  of  night. 

This  road,  you  know,  was  originally  the  Central 
Pacific,  remaining  so  until  swallowed  by  its  stronger 
rival  of  the  south,  the  Southern  Pacific,  which  now 
owns  and  operates  it. 

As  we  rode  along,  I  could  not  help  recalling  its 
early  history,  the  daring  of  its  projectors,  Hunt- 
ington, Crocker,  Stanford  and  Hopkins,  and  how  it 
never  could  or  would  have  been  built  at  all  but 
for  the  aid  of  the  thousands  of  Chinese  who,  under 
their  Irish  bosses,  finally  constructed  it. 

This  morning,  when  we  awoke,  we  had  long  passed 
Reno  in  Nevada,  and  were  flying  down  the  Si- 
erras' eastern  slopes  through  the  alkali  deserts  of 
the  interior  basin,  and  all  day  long  we  have  been 
crossing  these  plains  of  sand  and  sage  brush  and 
eternal  alkali.  We  read  of  things,  and  think  we 
are  informed,  but  only  when  we  see  the  world  face 
to  face  do  we  begin  to  comprehend  it.  Only  to-day 
have  I  learned  to  comprehend  that  Desert  and  Death 
are  one. 

On  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  we  had  beheld 
the  great  Columbia  River  plunge  between  the  facing 
canon  cliffs  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  the  Sel- 
kirks where   they   almost   touch,    the   very   apex   of 


THE    SAGEBRUSH    AND    ALKALI    DPJSERT. 


SAN    FRANCISCO    AND    SALT    LAKE    CITY.  265 

that  vast  interior  arid  basin  that  stretches  thence 
all  across  the  United  States  and  on  into  Mexico. 
At  Yakima,  in  Washington  State,  we  had  crossed 
the  Cascade  range  and  found  the  arid  valley  made 
to  bloom  and  blossom  into  a  perpetual  garden  by 
means  of  the  melting  snows  that  there  fed  the  Yakima 
River  and  adjacent  streams.  Now  we  were  again 
descending  from  the  crests  of  the  Sierra  Nevadas, 
down  into  this  same  vast  basin  where  no  Columbia 
cuts  it  through  and  no  Yakima  irrigates  its  limit- 
less and  solitary  aridness.  For  more  than  three  hun- 
dred miles  have  we  now  been  traversing  this  expanse 
of  parched  and  naked  waste.  No  water,  no  life, 
no  bird,  no  beast,  no  man.  Two  thousand  miles  and 
more  it  stretches  north  and  south,  from  Canada 
into  Mexico.  Five  hundred  and  forty  miles  is  its 
narrowest  width.  We  beheld  a  spur  of  it  the  other 
evening  when  we  crossed  the  edge  of  the  Mojave 
desert  in  Southern  California;  we  should  have  trav- 
ersed it  two  days  or  more  if  we  had  taken  the 
Southern  Pacific  route  through  Arizona.  As  wide 
in  its  narrowest  part  as  from  Charleston  to  New 
York,  or  to  Chicago !  What  courage  and  what  temer- 
ity did  those  early  pioneers  possess  who  first  ven- 
tured to  cross  it  with  their  lumbering  prairie-schoon- 
ers or  on  their  grass-fed  bronchos  from  the  Eastern 
plains !  And  how  many  there  were  who  perished  in 
the  attempt!  Yet  water  will  change  even  these 
blasted  wastes,  and,  at  the  one  or  two  stations  where 


266  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

artesian  wells  have  been  successfully  sunk,  we  saw 
high-grown  trees  and  verdant  gardens. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  began  to  approach  high, 
barren  hills  and  mountain  spurs,  all  brown  and  sere, 
save  the  sage  brush.  No  cactus  or  even  yucca  here, 
and  after  climbing  and  crossing  a  long,  dry  ridge,  we 
found  ourselves  descending  into  flat,  sandy  reaches, 
that  bore  even  no  shrubs  or  plants  whatsoever,  save 
a  dead  and  somber  sedgy  grass  in  sparse,  feeble 
bunches,  and  while  the  land  looked  wet  we  saw  no 
water.  Then  far  to  the  southeast  glimmered  a 
silver  streak,  so  faint  that  it  seemed  no  more  than 
mist,  and  the  streak  grew  and  broadened  and 
gleamed  until  we  knew  it  to  be,  in  fact,  Utah's 
Great  Salt  Lake.  Later,  we  came  yet  nearer  to  it 
for  a  few  miles,  and  then  lost  sight  of  it  again.  But 
the  face  of  the  land  had  changed.  We  saw  cattle 
among  the  sage  brush;  cattle  browsing  on  the  sweet, 
dry  grass  that  grows  close  under  the  sage-brush 
shadow  on  the  better  soils.  Then  we  came  to  an  oc- 
casional mud  dugout  hut  and  sometimes  a  wooden 
shack,  and  the  country  grew  greener,  grass — buf- 
falo bunch  grass — became  triumphant  over  the  sage 
brush,  and  then,  right  in  the  midst  of  a  waste  of 
sere  yellowness,  was  an  emerald  meadow  of  alfalfa 
and  a  man  driving  two  stout  horses  hitched  to  a 
mowing-machine  cutting  it,  two  women  raking  it  and 
tossing  it.  We  were  in  the  land  of  Mormondom,  and 
beheld  their  works.  Now,  the  whole  country  became 
green,     irrigating    ditches    everywhere,     substantial 


THE  MORMON  TEMPLE. 


SAN    FRANCISCO    AND    SALT    LAKE    CITY.  269 

farmhouses,  large,  well-built  barns  and  outhouses, 
and  miles  of  thrifty  Lombardy  poplars,  marking  the 
roadways  and  the  boundaries  of  the  fields. 

At  Ogden,  where  we  were  three  hours  late,  our 
sleeper  was  taken  off  the  through  train  to  Cheyenne 
and  attached  to  the  express  for  Salt  Lake  City. 
We  made  no  further  stops,  but,  for  an  hour,  whirled 
through  a  green,  fruitful,  patiently-tilled  landscape, 
whose  fertility  and  productiveness  delighted  eye  and 
brain.  Many  orchards,  large,  comfortable  farm- 
steads; wide  meadows,  green  and  abundant,  as  in 
Holland,  with  cattle  and  horses  feeding  upon  them; 
stubble  wheatfields,  with  flocks  of  sheep;  great 
beet  fields  and  kitchen  gardens  in  full  crops;  and 
water — water  in  a  thousand  ditches  everywhere! 
Big  farm  wagons,  drawn  by  large,  strong  horses,  we 
saw  upon  the  highways;  and  farmers,  in  well-found 
vehicles,  returning  from  the  city  to  their  homes. 

Then,  far  away,  towering  above  all  else,  loomed 
a  group  of  gray  spires,  like  the  distant  view  of  the 
dominating  pinnacles  of  the  minsters  and  cathedrals 
of  England  and  of  France,  and  of  Cologne.  They 
were  the  spires  of  the  great  towers  of  the  Mormon 
temple,  that  strange,  imposing  and  splendid  creation 
of  the  brain  of  Brigham  Young. 

It  was  dusk  when  we  reached  the  city.  Electric 
lights  were  twinkling  along  the  wide  streets  as  we 
drove  to  our  hotel.  We  have  not  yet  seen  the  city, 
except  for  a  short  stroll  under  the  glaring  lights. 
But  already  it  has  made  an  indelible  impression  on 


270  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

our  minds.  Only  two  cities  upon  this  continent — 
cities  of  magnitude — have  ever  been  created  and  laid 
out,  by  systematic  forethought,  before  being  entered 
and  occupied  by  men.  One,  Washington,  laid  out 
according  to  a  comprehensive  and  well-digested  plan ; 
the  other,  Salt  Lake  City,  the  creation — as  all  else 
here — of  Brigham  Young. 

The  streets  of  Salt  Lake  City  are  all  as  wide  as 
Pennsylvania  Avenue.  The  blocks,  of  ten  acres  each, 
immense.  But  these  streets — the  chief  ones  are 
perfectly  asphalted;  running  water  flows  in  every 
side  gutter;  great  trees,  long  ago  planted,  shade 
every  wide  sidewalk;  the  electric  tram-Gal's  run  on 
tracks  along  the  middle  of  the  thoroughf are ;  and 
the  two  wide  roadways,  on  either  side,  are  quite  free 
from  interfering  wires  and  poles.  Many  great 
blocks  of  fine  buildings  now  rise  along  the  business 
sections,  and  the  stores  present  as  sumptuous  dis- 
plays of  goods  and  fabrics  as  anything  we  have  seen 
in  San  Francisco,  Los  Angeles,  or  New  York.  The 
town  bears  the  marks  of  a  great  city.  Great  in  its 
plan,  great  in  its  development,  great  in  its  destiny. 
Truly,  a  capital  fit  for  the  seat  of  power  of  the 
potent  and  comprehending  Mormon  church. 

All  the  morning  we  have  been  viewing  concrete, 
practical  Mormondom,  and  the  sight  has  been  most 
instructive.  High  above  the  buildings  of  the  city 
tower  the  imposing  spires  and  pinnacles  of  the  Tem- 
ple, the  most  immense  ecclesiastical  structure  on  the 
North  American  continent.     Thirty  years  was  it  in 


THE  MORMON  TITHING-HOUSE. 


THE   MORMON    "LION   HOUSE.* 


SAN    FRANCISCO    AND    SALT    LAKE    CITY.  273 

building,  all  of  native  granite,  and  costing  more  than 
four  millions  of  dollars.  It  stands  in  the  central 
square  of  the  city,  surrounded  by  a  high  adobe  wall, 
and  a  Gentile  may  view  only  the  exterior. 

Then  we  visited  the  famous  Tabernacle  beneath 
whose  turtle-shaped  roof  10,000  worshipers  may  sit, 
and  whose  acoustic  properties  are  unrivaled  in  the 
world.  You  can  hear  a  whisper  and  a  pin  drop  two 
hundred  feet  away.  In  it  is  the  immense  organ  pos- 
sessing five  hundred  and  twenty  stops,  which,  like 
the  two  great  structures,  was  conceived  and  con- 
structed by  the  genius  and  patience  of  the  Mormon 
architects.  We  were  shown  about  the  grounds  of  the 
ecclesiastical  enclosure — though  not  permitted  to 
enter  the  Temple — by  a  courteous-mannered  lady 
whose  black  eyes  fired  with  religious  enthusiasm  as 
she  explained  the  great  buildings.  "My  son  is  a  mis- 
sionary in  Japan,  giving  his  life  to  the  Lord.  He 
preaches  in  Japanese,  and  is  translating  our  holy 
books  into  the  Japanese  tongue,"  she  said,  turning  to 
an  intelligent  Japanese  tourist  who  was  of  our  party. 

"We  also  bought  some  Mormon  literature  in  the 
fine,  modern  sky-scraper  buildings  of  the  Deseret 
News,  and  the  bright  young  man,  selling  us  the  books, 
showed  us  with  evident  pride  the  stores  of  elegantly 
printed  and  bound  volumes,  all  done  here  in  Salt  Lake 
City.  They  print  their  books  in  every  modern  tongue, 
and  their  missionaries  distribute  them  all  over  the 
world. 


274  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

Later,  we  viewed  the  fine  college  buildings  where 
higher  education  is  given  to  the  Mormon  youth.  We 
also  saw  the  famous  "Lion  House,"  over  whose  por- 
tal lies  a  sleeping  lion,  once  the  offices  of  Brigham 
Young,  now  occupied  by  the  ecclesiastical  managers 
of  the  church.  And  also  we  viewed  the  "Beehive 
House,"  where  once  Brigham  dwelt;  the  Tithing 
House,  where  is  received  and  stored  the  ecclesias- 
tical tithe  tax  of  ten  per  cent,  of  all  crops  raised  and 
moneys  earned  by  the  devoted  Mormon  believers ;  and 
the  great  bank  run  in  connection  with  it. 

All  these  evidences  of  practical,  organized,  devoted 
religious  world  zeal  have  we  beheld  gathered  and  cen- 
trally grouped  in  the  great  city  founded  and  raised 
by  these  curious  yet  capable  religious  delusionists. 

I  asked  about  Mormonism  of  a  Gentile  stranger 
from  another  State,  and  he  replied  in  deferential 
tones:  "No  man  in  his  senses  now  throws  stones  at 
the  Mormons;  they  are  among  the  most  industrious, 
most  thrifty  and  most  respected  people  of  the  West." 

To  wander  along  and  through  the  residence  sec- 
tion of  the  city  is  also  a  thing  to  surprise.  Street 
after  street  of  fine  private  dwellings,  each  mansion 
standing  in  its  own  garden,  upon  its  own  lawn.  Many 
of  them  very  modern,  and  many  of  them  far  exceed- 
ing in  cost  and  imposing  elegance  any  residence 
Charleston,  West  Virginia,  can  yet  boast — equal  to 
the  most  sumptuous  homes  of  Pittsburg  and  St.  Louis 
— and  most  of  them  owned  and  lived  in  by  cultivated 
families  of  the  Mormon  cult.    And  how  the  zeal  and 


SAN    FRANCISCO    AND    SALT    LAKE    CITY.  27o 

faith  and  religious  ardor  of  this  strange  sect  even  now 
to-day  burns  in  the  atmosphere  of  this  their  Holy- 
City!  It  is  the  same  spirit  that  we  met  in  Holy 
Moscow,  Russia's  sacred  capital — but  more  enlight- 
ened, more  practical. 

And  Mormonism  is  already  a  political  as  well  as 
religious  power  in  the  West.  In  Idaho,  in  Colorado, 
in  Nevada,  in  Arizona,  the  Mormon  vote  is  to  be  con- 
sidered and  even  catered  to.  In  Alberta,  the  Mormon 
settlement  is  said  to  be  the  most  prosperous  in  the 
province.  In  Mexico,  the  Mormon  settlements,  their 
astonishing  productivity  and  fertility,  are  already 
teaching  the  wonder-struck  Mexican  what  irrigated 
agriculture  may  do.  And  as  I  beheld  this  and  the  evi- 
dent success  of  a  religious  sect  which  mixes  fanatical 
zeal  with  astute  practical  management,  I  asked  myself 
what  is  the  real  secret  of  their  accomplishment  and 
their  power !  Is  it  the  theory  and  practice  of  polyg- 
amy. Did  or  does  polygamy  have  anything  to  do  with 
the  unquestioned  success  and  prosperity  of  the  Mor- 
mon people  ?  I  think  not.  Polygamy  has  been  merely 
an  incident,  and  the  disappearance  of  polygamy  has 
in  nowise  lessened  the  formidable  growth  of  Mormon 
power.  The  secret,  I  think,  is  the  secret  of  the  amaz- 
ing growth  and  spread  of  early  Christianity,  the 
putting  into  actual  practice  the  Christian  doctrine  of 
the  brotherhood  of  man — with  them  the  brotherhood 
of  the  Mormon  man  in  particular.  Once  a  Latter- 
day  Saint,  and  all  other  Saints  are  ready  to  lend 
you  a  hand,  and  the  organized  and  ably  administered 


276  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

mechanism  of  the  church  lends  the  new  Saint  a  hand 
as  well,  and  those  hands  once  extended  are  never  with- 
drawn except  for  powerful  and  well-merited  cause. 
The  Mormon  farmer  feels  that  back  of  his  success  is 
the  ever  helpful  and  protecting  eye  of  his  church  in 
material  as  well  as  spiritual  things.  The  Gentile 
farmer  may  succeed  or  may  fail,  and  who  cares;  but 
the  Mormon  must  succeed.  If  he  do  not  himself 
possess  the  innate  power  and  force  of  character  and 
judgment  to  get  on,  then  men  will  guide  and  aid 
him  who  do  possess  that  power,  and  so  he  gets  on 
even  in  spite  of  himself.  In  a  certain  sense,  the  Mor- 
mons practice  the  doctrine  of  collective  socialism,  and 
that  collective  unity  is  the  secret,  I  think,  of  their 
wonderful  accomplishment. 

The  creed  of  the  brotherhood  of  man,  and  of  man 
within  the  Christian  pale,  has  been  the  secret  of 
Christianity  wherever  it  has  won  success.  The  failure 
to  heed  it  and  obey  it  is  the  cause  of  failure  to  every 
religious  movement  that  has  come  to  naught.  And 
so  long  as  the  Mormon  Church  adheres  to  this  fun- 
damental principle,  just  so  long  will  it  continue  to  be 
a  power,  and  a  power  of  increasing  weight. 

And  this  cardinal  principle  is  also  the  secret  of 
their  missionaries'  success.  All  over  the  world  they 
are,  in  every  State  of  the  Union,  in  nigh  every  land, 
and  they  serve  without  recompense,  without  pay  even, 
as  did  the  early  missionaries  of  the  Christian  Church . 

There  is  and  always  has  been  a  good  deal  of  clev- 
erness in  the  leadership  of  the  Mormon  Church.     It 


GREAT  SALT  LAKE. 


SAN    FRANCISCO    AND    SALT    LAKE    CITY.  279 

is  an  old  adage  that  "The  blood  of  her  martyrs  is 
the  seed  of  the  chureh, ' '  and  the  Mormon  leaders  have 
comprehended  this  from  the  start.  Not  only  have 
they  cultivated  the  Christian  socialism  of  the  early 
church,  but  they  have  also  never  fled  from,  but  the 
rather  have  greatly  profited  by,  a  real  good  case  of 
martyrdom.  The  buffets  and  kicks  of  the  Gentile 
world  have  helped,  have  been  essential  in  welding 
the  Mormon  believers  into  that  political,  religious  and 
social  solidarity  so  much  sought  by  the  leaders.  They 
were  driven  from  New  York,  from  Ohio,  from  Mis- 
souri, then  from  Nauvoo.  They  have  been  shot, 
stoned,  murdered  by  scores.  They  have  been  impris- 
oned and  harried  by  the  federal  laws  (very  justly, 
perhaps).  But  the  effect  of  all  this  has  been  only  to 
make  them  stand  together  all  the  closer. 

Just  now  the  attack  upon  Senator  Smoot  is  profit- 
ing them  immensely.  He  sits  by  and  smiles-,  He 
has  only  one  wife.  He  is  no  more  oath-bound  to  his 
own  church  than  is  every  Roman  or  Greek  Archbishop 
vowed  to  his.  A  matter  of  conscience  only.  The 
effort  to  oust  him  will  probably  fail,  but  it's  a  good 
thing  for  the  church  to  have  him  hammered.  The 
more  martyrs,  the  fewer  backsliders.  The  faithful 
line  up,  stand  pat,  the  church  grows. 

On  the  streets  of  Salt  Lake  City  we  have  noi-cd 
the  very  few  vehicles  of  fashion  anywhere  to  be  seen, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  many  substantial  farm 
wagons  which  generally  seem  to  be  driven  by  a  woman 
accompanied  by  one  or  more  children,  more  usually 


280  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

a  half -grown  boy.  The  men  would  seem  to  be  work- 
ing on  the  farms,  while  the  women  come  into  town 
with  the  loads  of  produce.  The  faces,  too,  of  these 
women  were  generally  intelligent  and  contented. 

In  our  own  country  we  frequently  hear  the  Mor- 
mons denounced  as  polygamists.  In  Utah  and  the 
neighboring  States  you  hear  nothing  about  polygamy, 
and,  upon  inquiry,  I  was  told  that  while  once  this 
tenet  of  the  church  had  been  urged  and  practiced, 
yet  that  under  modern  social  conditions,  which  have 
come  in  with  the  railways,  the  younger  Mormon  of 
to-day  finds  that  one  woman  is  all  that  he  can  take 
care  of,  and  shows  no  disposition  to  load  himself  up 
with  the  burden  of  half  a  dozen.  To  my  observation, 
the  strength  and  danger  of  Mormonism  is  not  in 
polygamy,  but  rather  in  their  social  and  political  soli- 
darity, the  Mormon  president  of  the  church  wielding 
political  influence  over  his  followers  similar  to,  al- 
though in  nowise  so  vast  as,  that  of  the  Roman  Pope. 

Be  these  things  as  they  may,  it  is  at  any  rate  worth 
while  for  a  modern  Gentile  to  visit  this  center  of  the 
Mormon  power,  and  gather  from  ocular  evidence 
of  its  vital,  living,  forceful  presence  such  lessons  as 
he  may. 

This  afternoon  we  took  a  little  railway  and  jour- 
neyed twelve  miles  to  Saltair,  the  Atlantic  City  or 
Virginia  Beach  of  this  metropolis,  and  there  we 
bathed  in  the  supersaturated  brine.  I  could  swim  on 
it,  not  in  it,  so  buoyant  was  the  water,  and  my  chief 
difficulty  was  to  keep  my  head  out  and  my  feet  in. 


SAN    FRANCISCO    AND    SALT    LAKE    CITY.  281 

The  lake  is  sixty  miles  wide  by  ninety  miles  long,  with 
several  islands  of  high,  barren  hills.  A  few  boats 
ply  on  it.  No  fish  can  live  in  it,  and  the  chief  use  of 
it  is  to  evaporate  its  waters  for  supply  of  salt.  After 
dipping  in  it  we  came  out  quite  encrusted  with  a 
white  film  of  intense  salt, 

To-night  we  go  on  to  Denver,  through  the  canon 
of  the  Grand  River. 


282  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 


SEVENTEENTH  LETTER, 

A    BRONCHO-BUSTING    MATCH. 

Glenwood  Springs,  October  16,  190J. 

"We  left  Salt  Lake  City  by  the  express  last  night 
over  the  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  Railway,  starting 
three  hours  late.  When  we  awoke,  we  were  coming 
up  the  canyon  of  the  Green  River,  one  of  the  head 
streams  of  the  Colorado,  and  had  passed  through  the 
barren  volcanic  lava  wastes  of  the  Colorado  Desert 
during  the  night.  The  Green  River  flows  between 
sheer,  naked  volcanic  rock  masses,  not  very  high,  but 
jagged,  no  green  thing  growing  upon  them.  But  the 
scanty  bottom  lands  were  often  green  with  alfalfa 
meadows  and  well-kept  peach  and  apple  orchards,  the 
result  of  irrigation. 

From  the  valley  of  the  Green  River  we  crossed, 
passing  through  many  deep  cuts  and  tunnels,  to  the 
Grand  River,  the  eastern  fork  of  the  Colorado,  and 
followed  up  this  stream  all  day.  Very  much  the 
same  sort  of  country  as  before.  The  bare,  ragged, 
verdureless  cliffs  and  rock  masses,  dry  and  plantless, 
only  the  red  and  yellow  coloring  of  sandstone  re- 
lieving the  monotony,  and  everywhere  upon  the  scant 
bottom  lands  the  greenness  and  agriculture  of  irri- 
gation.    The  aspen  and  maples,  all  a  bright  yellow, 


A    BRONCHO-BUSTING    MATCH.  283 

but  not  so  splendid  a  golden  hue  as  the  forests  of  the 
valley  of  the  Yukon. 

Just  before  coming  to  Glenwood  Springs,  about 
noon,  I  had  wandered  beyond  my  sleeper  into  the 
smoking-car,  thinking  to  have  a  view  of  the  sort  of 
men  who  got  in  and  out  at  the  way  stations,  and, 
seating  myself  in  a  vacant  place,  picked  up  a  con- 
versation with  my  neighbor.  Imagine  my  surprise 
when  I  found  him  to  be  a  fellow  West  Virginian, 
from  Clarksburg,  taking  a  little  summer  trip  in  the 
West,  himself  a  Mr.  Bassel,  nephew  of  the  well-known 
lawyer,  John  Bassel,  of  upper  State  fame.  He  was 
going  to  stop  off  at  Glenwood  Springs  to  see  one  of 
Colorado's  most  popular  sports,  a  "broncho-busting" 
match,  where  were  to  be  gathered  some  of  the  most 
eminent  masters  of  the  art  in  the  State.  I  consulted 
my  time-tables,  ascertained  that  we  might  spend  the 
afternoon  there  and  yet  reach  Denver  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  when  the  train  pulled  into  the  station,  we 
were  among  the  expectant  throng  who  there  detrained. 

The  little  town  was  all  astir.  A  pile  of  Mexican 
saddles  lay  on  the  platform,  and  a  crowd  of  big, 
brawny  men  in  wide  felt  hats,  leathern  cowboy  leg- 
gings and  clanking  spurs,  were  shouldering  these, 
their  belongings,  and  moving  up  into  the  town. 

The  streets  were  full  of  people  come  in  from  the 
surrounding  highlands,  where,  high  up  on  the 
"mesas"  or  plateaus  above  the  valleys,  lie  some  of 
the  finest  cattle  ranges  in  the  State.  Big,  raw-boned, 
strong-chinned  men  they  were,  bronzed  with  the  sun 


284  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

and  marked  with  a  vigor  bespeaking  life  in  the  open 
air.  The  ladies,  too,  were  out  in  force,  well  dressed, 
not  much  color  in  their  cheeks,  but,  like  the  men, 
possessing  clean-cut,  clear-eyed  faces.  And  up  and 
down  the  wide  streets  were  continually  galloping 
brawny  riders,  evidently  arriving  from  their  distant 
ranches. 

The  crowd  stuck  to  the  sidewalk  and  seemed  ex- 
pectant. We  did  not  know  just  what  was  going  to 
happen,  but  stuck  to  the  sidewalk,  too,  and  well  for 
us  it  was  that  we  did  so.  There  were  rumors  of  a 
parade.  A  number  of  ranch  maidens,  riding  restive 
bronchos,  some  sitting  gracefully  astride,  drew  their 
horses  to  one  side.  The  crowd  was  silent.  We  were 
silent,  too.  Just  then  a  cloud  of  dust  and  a  clatter 
of  hoofs  came  swirling  and  echoing  down  the  street. 
A  troop  of  horses!  They  were  running  like  mad. 
They  were  bridleless,  riderless ;  they  were  wild  horses 
escaped.  They  ran  like  things  possessed.  No,  not 
all  were  riderless,  for  behind  them,  urged  by  silent 
riders,  each  man  with  swinging  lasso,  came  as  many 
cowboys  hot  on  the  chase.  Had  the  wild  horses 
broken  loose?  Could  they  ever  be  headed  off?  We 
wondered.  Was  the  fun  for  the  day  all  vanished  by 
the  accident?  Not  so,  we  found.  This  was  part  of 
the  game.  Every  broncho  buster,  if  he  would  take 
part  in  the  tests  of  ridership,  must  first  catch  a  wild 
horse,  that  later  an  opponent  should  master.  And 
the  way  those  lassos  swung  and  reached  and  dropped 
over  the  fleeing  bronchos  was  in  itself  a  sight  worth 


NUCKOLDS,   PUTTING   ON   THE  HOODWINK. 


NUCKOLDS,   THE    BllOXCHO   "BUSTED. 


A    BKONCHO-BUST1NG    MATCH.  287 

stopping  to  see.  Then,  as  each  rider  came  out  of  the 
dust  and  distance  leading  the  wild-eyed,  terrified 
beast  by  his  unerring  lasso,  great  was  the  acclaim 
given  him  by  the  hitherto  silent  multitude.  Every 
loose  horse  was  caught  before  he  had  run  half  a 
mile,  and  thus  haltered — the  lariat  around  the  neck — 
was  led  to  the  corral  near  the  big  meadow,  where  the 
man  who  should  ride  most  perfectly  would  win  the 
longed-for  prize — a  champion's  belt  and  a  purse  of 
gold. 

*  Many  famous  men  were  met  there  to  win  the  tro- 
phy— the  most  coveted  honor  a  Coloradan  or  any 
ranchman  may  possess. 

There  was  Marshall  Nuckolds,  of  Rifle  City, 
swarthy  and  black  as  an  Indian,  who  had  won  more 
than  one  trophy  in  hard-fought  contests — his  square 
jaw  meaning  mastery  of  any  four-footed  thing  that 
bucks.  There  was  Red  Grimsby,  long,  and  lank  and 
lithe  as  a.  Comanche,  with  a  blue  eye  that  tames  a 
horse  and  man  alike.  There  was  big,  loose-limbed 
Arizona  Moore,  a  new  man  in  Glenwood,  but  pre- 
ceded by  his  fame.  He  it  was  who  won  that  cow- 
boy race  in  Cheyenne,  not  long  since,  when  his  horse 
fell,  and  he  underneath — dead,  the  shuddering  au- 
dience thought  him — and  who  shook  himself  loose, 
re-mounted  his  horse  and  won  the  race  amidst  the 
mad  cheers  of  every  mortal  being  on  the  course.  He 
rode  a  fiery  black  mustang,  and  was  dressed  in  gor- 
geous white  Angora  goat's  hair  leggins,  a  blue  shirt, 
a  handkerchief  about  his  neck.    Handy  Harry  Bunn, 


288  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

of  Divide  Creek,  was  there  too,  a  dapper  little  pile 
of  bone  and  sinew,  whom  broncho,  buck  as  he  might, 
never  yet  had  thrown.  And  Freddy  Conners,  solid 
and  silent,  and  renowned  among  the  boys  on  the 
ranches  all  'round  about.  And  the  two  Thompson 
brothers,  of  Aspen,  home  boys,  the  youngest,  Dick, 
the  pride  of  Grand  River,  for  hadn't  he  won  the 
$100  saddle  in  the  big  match  at  Aspen  last  year,  and 
then  carried  off  the  purse  of  gold  at  Rifle  City  on 
the  Fourth  of  last  July!  Slim  and  clean-muscled, 
and  quick  as  a  flash  he  was,  with  a  piercing  black 
eye.  The  crowd  on  the  streets  were  all  betting  on 
Dick,  and  Dick  was  watching  Arizona  Moore  like 
a  hawk.     The  honors  probably  lay  between  the  two. 

The  big  meadow  in  the  midst  of  the  mile  track 

was  the  place.     H sat  in  the  grandstand,  my 

field-glasses  in  hand.  I  was  invited  to  the  judges' 
stand,  and  even  allowed  with  my  kodak  out  in  the 
field  among  the  judges  who  sat  on  their  horses  and 
followed  the  riders,  taking  points. 

Swarthy  Nuckolds  was  the  first  man.  He  came 
out  into  the  meadow  carrying  his  own  saddle  and 
rope  and  bridle.  To  him  had  fallen  a  wiry  bay, 
four-year  old,  never  yet  touched  by  man.  First  the 
horse  was  led  out  with  a  lasso  halter  around  its 
neck,  then,  when  it  came  to  a  standstill,  Nuckolds, 
with  the  softness  of  a  cat,  slipped  up  and  passed  a 
rope  halter  over  its  head,  which  he  made  cleverly 
into  a  bitless  bridle,  then  he  stealthily,  and 
before    the    horse    knew    it,    hoodwinked    it    with    a 


GRIMSBY  AND  THE  JUDGES. 


IH  XX.   MAKING   ROPE  BRIDLE. 


A    BRONCHO-BUSTING    MATCH.  291 

leather   band,   and   then   when   the   horse   could   not 
see  his  motions,  he   gently,   oh,  so  gently,   laid  the 
big  Mexican  saddle  on  its  back,  and  had  it  double 
i  girt    fast    before    the    horse    knew    what    had    hap- 
pened.    Then  he  waved  his  hand,  the  hoodwink  was 
pulled  off  by  two  assistants,  and  instantly  he  was 
in  the  saddle  astride  the  astonished  beast.    For  a  mo- 
ment the  horse  stood  wild-eyed,  sweating  with  terror 
— and  then,  and  then — up  it  went  like  a  bent  hook, 
its  head  between  its  legs,  its  tail  down,  its  legs  all  in 
a  bunch,  and  down  it  came,  stiff-kneed,  taut  as  iron, 
and   then   up   again,   and   so   by   leaps   and   bounds 
across  the  wide  field  and  back  again  right  through 
the  scrambling  crowd.     All  the  while  Nuckolds  ris- 
ing and  falling  in  perfect  unison  with  the  mad  mo- 
tions of  the  terrified  horse—his  hat  gone,  his  black 
hair  flying,  his  great  whip  and  heavy  spurs  goading 
the  animal  into  subjection.     At  last  he  rode  it  on  a 
trot,  mastered,  subjugated,  cowed,  up  to  the  judges' 
stand.     The  horse  stood  quietly,  trembling,  sweating, 
wet  as   though  having  swum   Grand   River.     Wild 
were  the  yells  that  greeted  Nuckolds.     He  had  but 
'  added  to  a  reputation  already  made. 

" Grimsby  next,"  was  the  command.  His  horse 
was  a  short-backed,  spindle-tailed  sorrel,  with  a  sort 
of  a  vicious  gait  that  boded  a  bad  temper  and  stub- 
born mind.  Again  the  halter  was  deftly  put  on  and 
made  into  a  bitless  bridle,  the  hoodwink  slipped  on, 
the  saddle  gently  placed,  and  man  and  horse  were 
furiously  rushing,   bucking,   leaping,   rearing   across 


292  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 

the  meadow,  and  right  straight  at  the  high  board 
and  wire  fence.  The  horse,  if  it  couldn't  throw  him, 
would  jam  and  scrape  him  off  if  it  ever  reached  that 
merciless  mass  of  pine  and  barbed  wire.  Could 
Grimsby  turn  him,  and  without  a  bit?  Great  riding 
that  was,  and  greater  steering,  for  just  before  the 
seeming  inevitable  crash,  the  horse  swerved,  turned 
and  was  bucking  across  and  then  around  the  field 
again.  Grimsby  never  failed  to  meet  every  wild 
movement,  and  sat  in  the  saddle  as  though  in  a  rock- 
ing-chair. The  horse,  at  last  conquered,  stood  quiet 
as  a  lamb,  and  the  cheers  for  the  sturdy  rider  quite 
equaled  the  plaudits  given  his  raven-maned  prede- 
cessor. 

Now  the  crowd  had  its  blood  up.  Two  native  cham- 
pions had  proved  their  grit,  what  could  the  Arizonian 
do  against  such  as  these?  "He's  too  big  and  awk- 
ward," said  one  onlooker.  "He's  not  the  cut  for  a 
King  buster,"  grunted  another.  "The  h — 1  he  ain't. 
Ain't  he  the  man  who  won  that  Cheyenne  race  after 
his  horse  fell  on  him?"  exclaimed  one  who  knew, 
and  the  scoffers  became  silent. 

Arizona  Moore  strode  clumsily  under  the  weight 
of  his  big  saddle,  but  his  black  eye  shone  clear  and 
masterful,  and  I  felt  he  was  sure  enough  a  man. 
His  horse  was  a  dark  blood  bay,  well  knit,  clean 
limbed,  short-barreled,  full  mane  and  tail,  a  fighter 
with  the  grit  of  a  horse  that  dies  before  it  yields.  I 
stood  quite  near  with  my  camera.  It  was  difficult 
to  get  the  rope  bridle  on,  it  was  more  difficult  to  put 


ARIZONA  MOORE.   UP. 


F&& 


ik^ 


ARIZONA  MOORE. 


A    BRONCHO-BUSTING    MATCH.  295 

on  the  hoodwink,  it  was  nigh  impossible  to  set  and 
cinch  the  saddle.  But  Moore  did  it  all,  easily,  deftly, 
quietly.  The  hoodwink  dropped,  and  instantly  the 
slouchy,  awkward  stranger  was  riding  that  furious, 
leaping,  cavorting,  bucking,  lunging  creature  as 
though  horse  and  man  were  one.  I  have  never  beheld 
such  riding.  He  sat  to  his  saddle  and  every  muscle 
and  sinew  kept  perfect  time  to  the  fiery,  furious  move- 
ments of  the  horse.  And  he  plied  his  whip  and  used 
his  spurs  and  laughed  with  glee,  as  though  he  were 
on  the  velvet  cushions  of  a  Pullman  car.  The  horse 
was  stronger,  more  active,  more  violent  than  the  two 
before.  It  whirled  'round  and  'round  until  you  were 
dizzy  looking.  It  went  up  all  in  a  bunch,  it  came  down 
spread  out,  it  came  down  with  stiff  legs,  it  reared, 
it  plunged,  it  ran  for  the  fence.  Nothing  could  mar 
the  joy  of  the  rider  nor  stir  that  even,  easy,  tena- 
cious seat.  "You've  beat  'em  all."  "Nor  can  the 
others  beat  you,"  roared  the  crowd,  as  he  rode  the 
conquered  animal  on  a  gentle  trot  up  to  the  judges' 
stand  and  leisurely  dismounted.  It  was  the  greatest 
horsemanship  I  have  ever  seen,  nor  shall  I  again  see 
the  like  for  many  a  day. 

Bunn  rode  next.  His  horse  was  in  full  and  fine 
condition.  It  leaped,  it  bucked,  it  raced  for  the 
fence,  it  reared,  it  even  sat  down  and  started  to  roll 
backwards,  a  terrible  thing  to  happen,  and  often 
bringing  death  to  an  incautious  rider.  But  Bunn 
never  lost  his  seat,  nor  did  the  horse  stay  long  upon 
its  haunches,   for,   stung  by   rawhide   and   spur,   it 


296  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

sprang  to  its  feet  and  tore  across  the  meadow,  ac- 
tually leaping  clean  and  sheer  the  impounding  fence. 
And  Bunn,  vanquishing  at  last,  walked  his  quiet 
horse  peacefully  up  and  dismounted. 

The  Thompson  boys  each  covered  themselves  with 
glory.  Dick's  first  horse  was  tamed  so  quickly — a  big, 
bright  bay — that  they  brought  him  a  second  one  to 
ride  again — a  long,  lean,  dun-colored,  Roman-nosed 
cayuse,  with  scant  mane  and  tail.  A  mean  beast,  the 
sort  of  a  horse  that  other  horses  in  the  bunch  scorn 
to  keep  company  with  and  hate  with  natural  good 
horse  sense.  He  stood  very  quiet  through  bridling, 
hoodwinking  and  saddling.  He  had  seen  the  others 
in  the  game.  His  mind  was  quite  made  up.  And 
when  Dick  vaulted  into  the  saddle,  he  at  first  stood 
stock  still,  and  then,  as  I  set  my  kodak,  I  could  see 
nothing  but  one  great  cloud  of  dun-colored  dust  and 
Thompson's  head  floating  in  the  upper  levels  of  the 
haze.  The  horse  was  whirling  and  bucking  all  at 
the  same  instant,  a  hump-buck,  a  flat  buck,  an  iron- 
legged  buck,  a  touch-ground-with-belly  buck,  and  a 
swirling-whirl  and  tail-and-neck  twist  at  one  and  the 
same  moment.  Enough  to  throw  a  tender  seat  a  hun- 
dred  feet  and  crack  his  bones  like  pipe  stems.  And 
then,  like  the  flight  of  an  arrow  from  a  bow,  that 
dun-colored  devil  bolted  straight  for  the  wickedest 
edge  of  the  fence.  I  thought  Dick  would  be  killed 
certain,  but  there  he  sat  and  drew  that  horse  down  on 
its  hams  three  feet  from  sure  death.  It  was  a  long 
battle,  vicious,  mean,  fierce,  merciless — the  beast  was 


THE  CROWD  AT  THE  BRONCHO-BUSTING  MATCH. 


THE   DUN-COLORED   DEVIL. 


A    BRONCHO-BUSTING    MATCH.  299 

bleeding,  welts  stood  out  on  flanks  and  shoulders,  its 
dry,  spare  muscles  trembled  like  leaves  shaken  by 
wind. 

The  boy  hero  of  Aspen  was  hero  still,  and  the  dun 
horse  walked  quietly  up  to  the  judges'  horses  and 
allowed  himself  to  be  unsaddled  without  as  much 
as  a  flinch,  and  he,  too,  was  drenching  wet,  as  well 
as  bloody. 

I  did  not  see  the  last  rider,  for  my  train  was 
soon  to  leave,  and  I  barely  had  time  to  get  aboard. 
But  I  got  some  fine  kodak  photographs,  and  have 
promised  to  send  a  set  to  the  old,  gray-headed  rancher 
who  stood  near  me  and  who  almost  cried  for  joy  to 
see  how  these  men  rode.  "I've  seven  boys,"  he  said, 
"and  every  one  of  'em's  a  broncho  buster;  even  the 
gals  can  bust  a  broncho,  that  they  can." 

I  have  not  learned  who  got  the  coveted  prize  belt, 
but  I  should  divide  it  between  Arizona  Moore  and 
Dandy  Dick. 


300  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 


EIGHTEENTH  LETTER. 

COLORADO    AND    DENVER. 

Denver,  October  19th. 
After  leaving  Glenwood  Springs  we  wound  up 
the  gorge  of  the  Grand  River,  the  castellated,  cren- 
elated, serrated,  scarped  and  wind-worn  cliffs  tower- 
ing many  thousand  feet  into  the  blue  sky.  The  val- 
ley narrowed  sensibly  and  the  sheer  heights  im- 
posed themselves  more  and  more  upon  us  as  we 
approached  the  tunnel  at  the  height  of  land 
10,200  feet  above  the  sea,  and  where  part  the  waters 
of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  from  those  of  the  Pacific. 
On  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway,  the  interoceanic 
divide  between  the  waters  of  Hudson  Bay  and  the 
Pacific  is  only  some  5,300  feet  above  tide  level,  so 
now  we  were  nearly  a  mile  higher  in  the  air.  Yet  the 
long  journey  of  2,000  miles  from  San  Francisco,  the 
crossing  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  and  Wasatch  ranges, 
had  brought  us  to  this  final  ascent  almost  unper- 
ceived. 

Traversing  the  divide  and  coming  out  from  the 
long  tunnel  which  bows  above  the  continental  height 
of  land,  we  diverged  from  the  main  line  and  crept 
yet  higher  right  up  into  Leadville,  where  the  air 
was  thin  and  keen  and  as  chill  as  in  December. 
Thence  we  descended  through  the  wonderful  canon 
of  the  Platte  River  that  has  made  this  journey  on  the 


COLORADO   AND   DENVER.  30] 

Denver  and  Rio  Grande  Railway  famous  the  world 
round. 

"We  came  to  Denver  early  in  the  morning;  the 
metropolis  of  the  middle  West,  the  chief  railroad 
center  west  of  the  Missouri,  the  mining  center  of  all 
the  Rocky  Mountain  mineral  belt,  and  now  claiming 
to  be  equally  the  center  of  the  great  and  rapidly 
growing  irrigated  agricultural  region  of  the  inter 
and  juxta  mountain  region  of  the  continent.  Essen- 
tially a  business  place  is  Denver.  Its  buildings  are 
as  elegant  as  those  of  New  York  City,  many  of  them 
almost  as  pretentious  as  those  of  Chicago,  as  solid 
as  those  of  Pittsburg,  and  as  new  as  the  fine  blocks 
of  Los  Angeles.  She  is  altogether  a  more  modern 
city  than  San  Francisco,  is  Denver.  Her  residences 
are  also  up  to  date,  handsome,  substantial.  The 
homes  of  men  who  are  making  money.  Her  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty  miles  of  electric  tramways  are  good, 
though  not  quite  as  good  as  the  two  hundred  miles 
of  Los  Angeles.  Her  schools  are  probably  unex- 
celled in  the  Union.  Denver  is  new,  and  in  the  clear, 
translucent  atmosphere  looks  yet  newer;  she  is  neat, 
she  is  ambitious,  and  she  is  gathering  to  herself  the 
commerce,  the  trade,  the  manufacturing  pre-emi- 
nence, the  mining  supervision  of  all  that  vast  section 
of  our  continent  from  Canada  to  Mexico,  from  the 
great  plains  to  the  snowy  summits  of  the  Cascades 
and  Sierra  Nevadas.  All  this  is  Denver,  while  at 
the  same  time  she  is  the  capital  of  Colorado,  a  State 
four  times   as  big  as  West  Virginia,   though  with 


302  IN    TO    THK    YTKON. 

only  half  the  population.  And  Denver  is  so  fast 
seated  in  the  saddle  of  state  prosperity  that  no  sec- 
tion of  Colorado  can  prosper,  no  interest  can  grow 
nor  develop,  neither  the  gold  and  silver  mining  with 
its  yield  of  forty  millions  a  year,  nor  the  iron  and 
coal  fields — 30,000  square  miles  of  coal  fields — nor 
the  agriculture  and  grazing  interests,  worth  eighty 
millions  a  year  (now  exceeding  the  value  of  the 
gold  and  silver  produced  twice  over),  none  of  these 
can  grow  and  gain,  but  they  immediately  and  per- 
manently pay  tribute  to  Denver. 

Yet  this  very  up-to-dateness  of  Denver  robs  it  of 
a  certain  charm.  You  might  just  as  well  be  at  home 
a.s  be  in  Denver.  The  people  look  the  same,  they 
dress  the  same,  they  walk  the  same,  they  talk  the 
same.    Just  a  few  more  of  them,  that's  all. 

There  are  none  of  the  lovely  lawns  and  gardens 
of  Los  Angeles  and  Tacoma  in  Denver,  nor  can  there 
ever  be.  Roses  do  not  bloom  all  the  winter  through, 
nor  in  Denver  does  the  turf  grow  thick  and  velvety 
green  as  in  Seattle,  nor  can  they  ever  do  so — only  a 
few  weakly  roses  in  the  summer-time  and  grass — 
only  grass  when  you  water  each  blade  with  a  hose 
three  times  a  day.  And  then,  too,  men  do  not  go  to 
Denver  to  make  homes;  they  go  there  the  rather  to 
make  fortunes,  and,  if  successful,  then  to  hurry  away 
and  live  in  a  more  congenial  clime. 

Denver  is  not  laid  out  with  the  imposing  regal- 
ness  of  Salt  Lake  City,  nor  can  it  ever  possess  the 
dignity  of  that  place.    It  is  just  a  big,  hustling,  com- 


COLORADO    AND    DENVER.  303 

mercial,  manufacturing,  mine-developing  center, 
where  the  well  man  comes  to  work  and  toil  with  fe- 
verish energy  in  the  thin  air;  and  the  sick  man — the 
consumptive — comes  to  live  a  little  while  and  die — 
"One  Lungers"  do  not  here  hold  fast  to  life  as  in 
the  more  tender  climate  of  southern  California — nor 
can  they  survive  long  in  Denver's  harsh,  keen  air. 

The  loveliest,  grandest  part  of  Denver  is  that 
which  it  does  not  possess.  It  is  the  splendid  pano- 
rama of  the  Rocky  Mountain  chain  that  stretches, 
a  monstrous  mass  of  snow-clad  summits,  along  the 
western  horizon,  eighteen  to  thirty  miles  away. 
Across  a  flat  and  treeless  plain  you  behold  the  long 
line  of  lesser  summits,  and  then  lifting  behind  them, 
towering  skyward,  the  splendid  procession  of  snow- 
clad  giants,  glittering  and  flashing  in  the  translucent 
light  of  the  full  shining  sun.  The  panorama  is 
sublime,  as  fine  as  anything  in  Switzerland,  and  of 
a  beauty  worthy  of  a  journey — a  long  journey — to  be- 
hold. In  Canada,  the  Rockies  come  so  slowly  upon 
you  that  they  seem  almost  insignificant  compared 
with  their  repute.  But  here,  one  realizes  in  fullest 
sense  the  dignity  of  this  stupendous  backbone  of  the 
continent.  And  the  pellucid  atmosphere  of  the  mile- 
high  altitude,  gives  renewed  and  re-enforced  vision 
to  the  eye.  The  gigantic  mountains  stand  forth  with 
such  distinctness  that  the  old  tale  of  the  Englishman 
who  set  out  to  walk  to  them  before  breakfast — think- 
ing them  three  instead  of  thirty  miles  away — is  likely 
enough  to  have  more  than  once  occurred. 


304  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

The  great  "Mountain  Empire  State"  of  Colorado 
is  vastly  rich  in  deposits  of  gold  and  silver  and  lead 
and  antimony  and  copper  and  coal  and  iron,  yet 
very  few  there  are,  or  ever  can  be,  who  do  or  may 
amass  fortunes  therefrom.  Her  coal  beds  exceed  in 
area  the  entire  State  of  West  Virginia  nearly  twice 
over,  yet  thousands  of  acres  lie  un worked  and  are  now 
practically  unworkable.  Her  oil  fields  are  promis- 
ing, a  paraffine  oil  of  high  grade,  yet  no  oil  pro- 
ducer has  made  or  can  make  any  great  stake  out  of 
them.  Her  agriculture  and  grazing  interests  already 
exceed  the  enormous  values  of  her  gold  and  silver,  yet 
few  farmers  or  cattle  men  make  more  than  a  living. 
Colorado  is  rich,  fabulously  rich,  yet  the  wealth  that 
is  wrung  from  her  rocks  and  her  pastures  and  her 
tilled  fields  passes  most  of  it  into  hands  other  than 
those  who  produce  it. 

The  great  railroad  corporations  get  the  first 
whack.  It  has  cost  enormously  to  build  them;  they 
are  expensive  to  maintain;  they  are  safe  from  com- 
petition by  reason  of  the  initial  cost  of  their  con- 
struction. They  are  entitled  to  consideration,  and 
they  demand  it  and  enforce  it  to  the  limit.  The 
freight  rates  are  appalling,  and  so  adjusted  as  to 
squeeze  out  of  every  natural  product  the  cream  of 
profit  it  may  yield — sometimes  only  very  thin  skim 
milk  is  left.  The  passenger  fares  are  high,  usually 
four  cents  to  ten  cents  per  mile.  The  cost  of  living 
is  onerous  in  Colorado;  all  freights  brought  there 
pay  excessive  tribute  to  the  railways.     So  much  for 


COLORADO   AND    DENVER.  305 

the  general  conditions.  With  mining  it  is  yet  more 
serious.  The  Rockefeller-Gugenheim  Smelter  com- 
bine now  controls  mercilessly  all  the  smelting  busi- 
ness of  the  State,  and,  as  for  that,  of  the  mining 
country.  And  unless  you  have  an  ore  that  "will 
yield  more  than  $20  per  ton,  you  might  as  well  not 
go  into  the  mining  business,"  experienced  mining 
men  repeatedly  observed  to  me. 

Colorado  boasts  enormous  agricultural  and  graz- 
ing wealth.  She  claims  that  the  present  values  of  her 
herds  of  cattle  and  horses,  and  flocks  of  sheep,  of 
her  orchards  and  irrigated  crops  already  exceed 
that  of  her  gold  and  silver  and  mineral  production. 
This  may  be  so,  and  yet  after  the  cattle  and  sheep 
and  horses  are  transported  to  distant  markets  and 
converted  into  cash,  after  her  farmers  have  paid  the 
enormous  irrigation  charges  to  the  private  corpora- 
tions that  control  the  water  springs,  the  man  on  the 
soil  makes  little  more  than  a  bare  living,  the  fat 
profits,  if  any  there  be,  having  passed  into  the  ca- 
pacious pockets  of  the  water  companies,  of  the  trans- 
portation companies,  of  the  great  meat-packing  and 
horse-buying  companies.  The  farmers  and  grazers 
with  whom  I  have  talked  tell  me  that  if  they  come 
out  even  at  the  end  of  the  year,  with  a  small  and 
moderate  profit,  they  count  themselves  fortunate. 
Here  and  there,  of  course,  a  fortune  may  be  amassed 
by  an  unusual  piece  of  good  luck  by  the  man 
who  raises  cattle  or  fruit,  or  crops,  but  as  a.  rule  the 


306  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

undoubted  profits  of  these  industries  are  absorbed  by 
the  great  corporate  interests  at  whose  mercy  they  lie. 

Just  what  will  be  the  outcome  of  these  crushing 
industrial  conditions  it  is  difficult  to  forecast,  but  we 
already  see  the  first  expressions  of  popular  dissatis- 
faction in  the  extensive  labor  strikes  now  prevailing 
in  the  Cripple  Creek  region,  and  threatening  to 
spread  to  and  include  all  of  the  mining  camps  and 
operations  of  the  State  and  adjoining  States.  Cor- 
porate greed  and  unscrupulous  selfishness  arouse  op- 
position, and  then  ensues  corresponding  combina- 
tion, and  too  often  counter  aggression  quite  as  un- 
reasonable and  quite  as  inconsiderate  in  scope  and 
action.  Men  are  but  mortal,  and  "an  eye  for  an 
eye ' '  is  too  ancient  an  adage  to  have  lost  its  force  in 
this  twentieth  century. 

Just  how  these  transportation,  mining,  agricul- 
tural and  industrial  problems  will  be  finally  solved 
I  dare  not  predict,  but  we  will  trust  that  the  ulti- 
mate good  sense  of  American  manhood  will  work  out 
a  reasonable  solution. 


ACROSS   NEBRASKA.  307 


NINETEENTH  LETTER. 

ACROSS   NEBRASKA. 

On   Bublington   Route   Express,  "» 
October   20,   1903.     / 

We  left  Denver  upon  the  night  express  over  the 
Burlington  Railway  system,  and  all  day  to-day  are 
flying  eastward  across  flat,  flat  Nebraska. 

At  dawn  the  country  looked  parched  and  treeless; 
expanses  of  buffalo  grass  and  herds  of  cattle.  Here 
and  there  the  course  of  a  dried-up  stream  marked  by 
straggling  cottonwood  trees  and  alders,  their  leaves 
now  turned  a  dull  yellow  brown.  A  drear  land,  but 
yet  less  heart-sickening  than  the  stretches  of  bleak 
and  barren  landscape  we  have  so  often  gazed  upon 
through  Nevada,  Utah  and  Colorado.  Despite  the 
dry  and  parched  appearance  of  this  immediate  region, 
it  is  yet  counted  a  fine  grazing  country,  and  the  cattle 
range  and  thrive  all  the  year  round  upon  the  tufted 
bunches  of  the  sweet,  nutritious  buffalo-grass  that 
everywhere  here  naturally  abounds. 

By  middle  morning  we  are  entering  the  more  east- 
ern farming  section  of  the  State,  though  still  in  west- 
ern Nebraska.  The  land  is  all  fenced,  laid  out  in 
large  farms,  the  fences  and  public  roads  running 
north  and  south  and  east  and  west.  The  farm- 
houses are  neat,  mostly,  and  set  in  tidy  yards  with 


308  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

groves  of  trees  planted  about.  Large  red  barns, 
many  hay  and  wheat  stacks,  illimitable  fields  of  thick- 
growing  wheat  stubble,  and  miles-  of  corn,  the  stalks 
bearing  the  large  ears  yet  standing  in  the  hill,  while, 
as  a  general  thing,  the  roughness  has  all  been  gath- 
ered in — the  Southern  way  of  handling  the  corn 
crops.  No  shocks  standing  like  wigwams  in  the 
fields. 

Fall  plowing  is  also  under  way.  We  have  just 
passed  a  man  sitting  on  a  sulky  plow,  driving  four 
big  horses  abreast,  his  little  six-year  old  daughter 
on  his  knee.  A  pretty  sight.  There  are  many  wind- 
mills, one  near  each  house  and  barn,  some  out  in  the 
wide  fields,  all  pumping  water,  turned  by  the  prairie 
winds  that  forever  blow. 

We  are  passing  many  small  towns.  All  just  alike. 
The  square-fronted  stores,  the  steepled  churches,  the 
neat  residences,  rows  of  trees  planted  along  either 
side  of  the  streets.  "That  dreadful  American  mon- 
otony, ' '  as  foreign  visitors  exclaim ! 

The  country  looks  just  like  the  flat  prairie  sec- 
tion of  Manitoba,  Assiniboia  and  Alberta,  in  Canada, 
that  we  traversed  in  August,  except  that  this  is  all 
occupied  and  intelligently  tilled,  while  the  most  part 
of  that  is  yet  open  to  the  roaming  coyote,  and  may 
be  yet  purchased  from  the  Canadian  Government  or 
from  the  Railway  Company,  as  is  rapidly  being  done. 
And  this  country  here  looks  longer  settled  than  does 
northern  Minnesota  and  North  Dakota  through  which 
we  passed. 


ACROSS   NEBRASKA.  309 

The  planting  of  trees  in  Nebraska  seems  to  have 
been  very  general,  and  along  the  roadways,  the  farm 
division  lines,  and  about  the  farmsteads  and  in  the 
towns  are  now  multitudes  of  large  and  umbrageous 
trees.  And  sometimes  large  areas  have  been  planted, 
and  are  now  become  veritable  woodland. 

At  the  town  of  Lincoln,  Mr.  W.  J.  Bryan's  home 
city,  we  have  stopped  quite  awhile,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance can  see  the  tall,  white,  dome-hooded  cupola  of 
the  State  Capitol  through  the  yellow  and  brown  fo- 
liage of  autumnal  tinted  cottonwood. 

Sitting  in  the  forward  smoker  and  falling  into 
conversation  with  a  group  of  Nebraska  farmers,  I 
found  a  number  of  substantial  Democrats  among 
them,  admirers  but  no  longer  adherents  of  Mr. 
Bryan — "Our  crops  have  never  been  so  good  and 
gold  never  so  cheap  and  so  plenty  as  during  the  last 
few  years,"  they  said.  And  they  were  not  surprised 
when  they  saw  by  the  quotation  of  silver  in  the  Den- 
ver morning  paper  that  silver  had  never  risen  to  so 
high  a  price  in  the  open  market  as  it  holds  to-day, 
sixty-eight  cents  per  ounce.  And  they  spoke  of 
Grover  Cleveland  with  profound  respect.  In  Ne- 
braska, they  tell  me,  all  possibility  of  a  recrudes- 
cence of  the  Bryan  vagaries  is  now  certainly  dead, 
and  that  this  fine  agricultural  State  is  as  surely  Re- 
publican as  is  Ohio.  The  farmers  are  all  doing  well, 
making  money  and  saving  money.  They  are  fast 
paying  off  such  land  mortgages  as  remain.  Also, 
there  are  now  few,  very  few,  unoccupied  lands  in 


310  IN    TO    THE    YUKON.- 

Nebraska.  The  State  is  practically  filled  up,  and 
filled  up  with  a  permanent  and  contented  popula- 
tion. As  families  grow,  and  sons  and  daughters  come 
to  manhood  and  womanhood,  the  old  farms  must  be 
cut  up  and  divided  among  them,  or  the  surplus 
young  folk  must  seek  homes  elsewhere.  And  of  this 
surplus  some  are  among  the  great  American  trek 
into  the  Canadian  far  north. 

We  reached  Omaha,  the  chief  city  of  Nebraska, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  coming  into  the  fine  granite 
station  of  the  Burlington  Railway  system. 

While  in  the  city  we  were  delightfully  taken  care 
of  by  our  old  school  and  college  friends,  to  whom  the 
vanished  years  were  yet  but  a  passing  breath.  We 
were  sumptuously  entertained  at  a  banquet  at  the 
Omaha  Club.  We  were  dined  and  lunched  and 
driven  about  with  a  warm-hearted  hospitality  which 
may  only  have  its  origin  in  a  heart-to-heart  friendship, 
which,  beginning  among  young  men  at  life's  thresh- 
old, comes  down  the  procession  of  the  years  un- 
changed and  as  affectionately  demonstrative  as 
though  we  were  all  yet  boys  again.  It  carried  me 
back  to  the  days  when  we  sat  together  and  sang  that 
famous  German  student  song:  "Denkt  Oft  Ihr 
Brueder  an  Unserer  Juenglingsfreudigheit,  es  Kommt 
Nicht  Wieder,  Die  Goldene  Zeit." 

Omaha,  a  city  of  100,000  inhabitants,  forms,  to- 
gether with  Kansas  City  on  the  south  and  St.  Paul, 
and  Minneapolis  on  the  north,  the  middle  of  the  three 
chief  population  centers  between  St.  Louis,  Chicago 


ACROSS   NEBRASKA.  311 

and  Denver.  It  is  the  chief  commercial  center  of 
Nebraska  and  of  South  Dakota,  southern  Montana 
and  Idaho,  and  controls  an  immense  trade. 

In  old  times  it  was  the  chief  town  on  the  Missouri 
above  St.  Louis  and  still  maintains  the  lead  it  then 
acquired.  I  was  surprised  to  find  it  situated  on  a 
number  of  hills,  some  quite  steep,  others  once  steep- 
er, now  graded  down  to  modern  requirements.  Its 
streets  are  wide  and  fairly  well  paved,  and  its 
blocks  of  buildings  substantial.  The  residence  streets 
we  drove  through  contain  many  handsome  houses, 
light  yellow-buff  brick  being  generally  used,  while 
Denver  is  a  red  brick  town.  'The  parks,  enclosing 
hill  and  dale,  are  of  considerable  natural  beauty,  here 
again  having  advantage  over  Denver,  where  the  flat- 
tened prairie  roll  presents  few  opportunities  for 
landscape  gardening. 

The  extensive  stockyards  and  abattoirs  of  Armour, 
Swift  and  several  other  companies  have  made  Omaha 
even  a  greater  center  of  the  meat  trade  than  Kansas 
City.  In  company  with  W I  spent  the  morn- 
ing in  inspecting  these  extensive  establishments. 
The  volume  of  business  here  transacted  reaches  out 
into  all  the  chief  grazing  lands  of  the  far  West.  The 
stockyards  are  supposed  to  be  run  by  companies  in- 
dependent of  the  packing-houses,  and  to  be  merely 
hotels  where  the  cattle  brought  in  may  be  lodged  and 
boarded  until  sold,  and  the  cattle  brokers  are  pre- 
sumed to  be  the  agents  of  the  cattle  owners  who  have 
shipped  the  stock,  and  to  procure  for  these  owners 


3112  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

the  highest  price  possible.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  packing-houses  control  the  stockyards,  dominate 
the  brokers,  who  are  constantly  near  to  them  and  far 
from  the  cattle  owners,  and  the  man  on  the  range 
who  once  ships  his  cattle  over  the  railroads,  forth- 
with places  himself  at  the  mercy  of  the  packer — the 
stock  having  been  shipped  must  be  fed  and  cared  foi 
either  on  the  cars  or  in  the  yards,  and  this  takes 
money — so  the  quicker  the  sale  of  them  is  made  the 
better  for  the  owner.  Hence,  inasmuch  as  the  packer 
may  refuse  to  buy  until  the  waiting  stock  shall  eat 
their  heads  off — the  owner,  through  the  broker,  is 
compelled  to  sell  as  soon  as  he  can,  and  is  compelled 
to  accept  whatsoever  price  the  packer  may  choose  to 
offer  him.  So  the  packing  companies  grow  steadily 
richer  and  their  business  spreads  and  Omaha  in- 
creases also. 

The  other  chief  industry  of  Omaha  is  the  great 
smelter  belonging  to  the  trust.  Incorporated  origi- 
nally by  a  group  of  enterprising  Omaha  men  as  a 
local  enterprise,  it  was  later  sold  out  to  the  Gugen- 
heim  Trust,  whose  influence  with  the  several  rail- 
roads centering  in  Omaha  has  been  sufficient  to  pre- 
serve the  business  there,  though  the  smelter  is  really 
far  away  from  ores  and  fluxes. 

These  two  enterprises,  the  cattle  killing  and  pack- 
ing and  ore-reducing,  together  with  large  railway 
shops,  constitute  the  chief  industrial  interests  of 
Omaha,  and,  for  the  rest,  the  city  depends  upon  the 
extensive   farming   and   grazing   country   lying    for 


ACROSS   NEBRASKA.  313 

five  hundred  miles  between  her  and  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. As  they  prosper,  so  does  Omaha;  as  they  are 
depressed,  so  is  she.  And  only  one  thing,  one  catas- 
trophe does  Omaha  fear,  far  beyond  words  to  tell — the 
fierce,  hot  winds  that  every  few  years  come  blowing 
across  Nebraska  from  the  furnace  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains' alkali  deserts.  They  do  not  come  often,  but 
when  they  do,  the  land  dies  in  a  night.  The  green  and 
fertile  country  shrivels  and  blackens  before  their 
breath,  the  cattle  die,  the  fowls  die,  the  things  that 
creep  and  walk  and  fly  die.  The  people — the  people 
flee  from  the  land  or  die  upon  it  in  pitiful  collapse. 
Then  it  is  that  Omaha  shrivels  and  withers  too. 
Twice,  twice  within  the  memory  of  living  man  have 
come  these  devastating  winds,  and  twice  has  Omaha 
suffered  from  their  curse,  and  even  now  Omaha  is 
but  recovering  her  activity  of  the  days  before 
the  plague,  forgetful  of  a  future  that — well !  men 
here  say  that  such  a  universal  catastrophe  may  never 
again  occur. 

And  the  handsome  city  is  prosperous  and  full  of 
buoyant  life. 

We  now  go  on  to  St.  Louis  and  thence  to  Cincin- 
nati and  so  home. 


314  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 


TWENTIETH  LETTER. 

ALONG   IOWA   AND   INTO   MISSOURI   TO   ST.    LOUIS. 
Charleston,  W.  Va.,  October  23,  1903. 

Our  journey  from  Omaha  to  St.  Louis  was  down 
the  valley  of  the  Missouri,  a  night's  ride.    We  crossed 
the  mighty  river  over  an  enormously  high  bridge 
and  then  followed  the  crest  of  an  equally  lofty  em- 
bankment across  several  miles  of  wide,  rich  bottoms 
to  Council  Bluffs,  in  the  State  of  Iowa.     "Nobody 
dares  fool  with  the  Missouri,"  a  man  said  to  me  in 
Omaha,  as  he  pointed  out  where  the  voracious  river 
was  boldly  eating  up  a  wide,  black-soiled  meadow 
in  spite  of  the  square  rods  of  willow  mats  and  tons  of 
rocks  that  had  been  laid  down  to  prevent  it.   "When 
the  Missouri  decides  to  swallow  up  a  bottom,  or  a 
village,  or  a  town,  she  just  does  it,  there  is  no  es- 
cape. ' '  And  even  the  citizens  of  Omaha  do  not  sleep 
well  of  nights  when  the  mighty  brown  tide  fumes  too 
angrily.    Hence  the  extraordinarily  high  bridge  and 
enormous  embankment  we  traversed  when  we  sought 
to  cross  over  to  dry  land  in  Iowa.    The  waters  of  the 
Missouri  are  as  swift  as  those  of  the  Yukon,  but  the 
river  flows  for  a  thousand  miles  through  the  soft  muds 
of  the  Western  prairies,  instead  of  through  the  banks 
of  firm  gravel,  and  it  eats  its  way  here  and  there  when 
and   where   it   chooses,    and   no   man   can   prevent. 


ALONG  IOWA,  INTO  MISSOURI  TO  ST.  LOUIS.         315 

Hence  the  railways,  while  they  traverse  the  general 
course  of  the  great  valley  of  the  Missouri,  do  not 
dare  follow  too  closely  the  river  banks,  but  they 
rather  keep  far  away  and  have  just  as  little  to  do 
with  the  treacherous  stream  as  they  may.  So  it  was 
we  did  not  see  much  more  of  the  Missouri,  but  sped 
into  wide,  flat,  rich  stretches  of  alluvial  country 
until  darkness  fell  upon  us  and  night  shut  out  all 
suggestions  of  the  river. 

When  morning  dawned  we  were  among  immense 
fields  of  tall  corn,  corn  so  high  as  to  quite  hide  a 
horseman  riding  through  it.  The  farm-houses  were 
large  and  substantial.  The  farmstead  buildings 
were  big  and  trim.  The  cattle  we  saw  were  big, 
the  hogs  were  big,  the  fowls  were  big.  And  over  all 
there  brooded  a  certain  atmosphere  of  big  contented- 
ness.  We  were  in  the  State  of  Missouri,  and  passing 
through  some  of  its  richest,  most  fruitful,  fertile 
farming  lands.  A  rich  land  of  rich  masters,  once 
tilled  by  slave  labor,  a  land  still  rich,  still  possessed 
by  owners  well-to-do  and  yielding  yet  greater  crops 
under  the  stimulus  of  labor  that  is  free. 

When  we  had  retired  for  the  night  our  car  was 
but  partially  filled.  When  we  awoke  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  I  entered  the  men's  toilet-room,  I  found  it 
full  of  big,  jovial,  Roman  priests.  Our  car  was 
packed  with  them.  They  had  got  in  at  every  sta- 
tion; they  continued  to  get  in  until  we  reached  St. 
Louis.  The  eminent  Roman  prelate,  the  Right  Rev- 
erend Archbishop  of  St.  Louis,  Kain,  once  Bishop 


316  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

of  Wheeling,  had  surrendered  his  great  office  to  the 
Pope,  and  the  churchly  fathers  of  all  the  middle 
West  were  gathering  to  St.  Louis,  to  participate  in 
the  funeral  pageant.  A  couple  of  young  priests 
were  talking  about  the  "old  man,"  while  a  white- 
haired  father  spoke  of  "His  Eminence,"  and  I 
learned  that  Cardinal  Gibbons,  of  Baltimore,  was 
expected  to  also  attend  the  funeral  ceremonies. 

We  breakfasted  on  the  train,  and  in  the  dining- 
car  sat  at  table  with  two  brother  Masons  wearing 
badges,  and  from  them  I  learned  that  they  were  also 
traveling  to  St.  Louis,  there  to  attend  the  great  meet- 
ing of  the  Grand  Lodge  of  the  State  of  Missouri. 
The  city  would  be  full  of  Masons,  and  the  cere- 
monies of  the  Masonic  Order  and  of  the  Roman 
Church  would  absorb  the  attention  of  St.  Louis  for 
the  next  few  days.  And  so  we  found  it,  when  we 
at  last  came  to  a  stop  within  the  great  Central  Rail- 
way Station — next  to  that  of  Boston,  the  largest  in 
the  world — where  we  observed  that  the  crowd  within 
it  was  made  up  chiefly  of  men  wearing  the  Masonic 
badges,  their  friends  and  families,  and  the  round- 
collared  priests.  A  strange  commingling  and  only 
possible  in  America.  In  Mexico,  a  land  where  the 
Roman  Church  dominates,  though  it  no  longer  rules, 
the  Masons  do  not  wear  their  badges  or  show  out- 
ward token  of  their  fraternal  bonds.  In  England, 
where  the  king  is  head  of  the  Masonic  Order,  there, 
until  the  last  half  century,  the  Roman  Catholic  sub- 
ject might  not  vote  nor  hold  office.     Here  in   St. 


ALONG  IOWA,  INTO  MISSOURI  TO  ST.  LOUIS.        .317 

Louis,  in  free  America,  I  saw  the  two  mixing  and 
mingling  in  friendly  and  neighborly  comradeship. 

I  do  not  know  whether  you  have  ever  been  in  St. 
Louis,  but  if  you  have,  I  am  sure  you  have  felt  the 
subtle,  attractive  charm  of  it.  It  is  an  old  city.  It 
was  founded  by  the  French.  The  old  French-de- 
scended families  of  to-day  talk  among  themselves 
the  language  of  La  Belle  France.  For  a  century  it 
has  been  the  Mecca  of  the  Southern  pioneer,  who 
found  in  it  and  about  it  the  highest  northern  limit 
of  his  emigration.  Missouri  was  a  slave  state.  St. 
Louis  was  a  Southern  slave-served  city.  The  Vir- 
ginians, who  crossed  through  Greenbrier  and  flat- 
boated  down  the  Kanawha  and  Ohio,  settled  in  it  or 
went  out  further  west  from  it.  Alvah,  Charles  and 
Morris  Hansford,  the  Lewises,  the  Ruffners,  made 
their  flatboats  along  the  Kanawha  and  floated  all 
the  way  to  it.  St.  Louis  early  acquired  the  courtly 
manners  of  the  South.  She  is  a  city  to-day  which 
has  preserved  among  her  people  much  of  that  South- 
ern savor  which  marks  a  Southern  gentleman  wher- 
ever he  may  be.  St.  Louis  is  conservative ;  her  French 
blood  makes  her  so.  She  is  gracious  and  well-man- 
nered ;  her  southern  founders  taught  her  to  be  so. 
And  when  the  struggle  of  the  Civil  War  was  over, 
and  the  Union  armies  had  kept  her  from  the  burning 
and  pillaging  and  havoc  and  wreck  that  befell  her 
more  southern  sisters,  St.  Louis  naturally  responded 
to  the  good  fortune  that  had  so  safely  guarded  her, 
and  took  on  the  renewed  energy  and  wealth-acquir- 


318  IN    TO    THE    YUKON. 

ing  powers  of  the  unfolding  West.  The  marvelous 
developments  of  the  Southwest,  and  now  of  Mexico, 
by  American  railroad  extension,  has  built  up  and  is 
building  up  St.  Louis,  just  as  the  great  Northwest 
has  poured  its  vitalizing  energies,  its  boundless  wheat 
crops,  into  Chicago.  Corn  and  cattle  and  cotton 
have  made  St.  Louis,  and  Spanish  is  taught  in  her 
public  schools.  Chicago  may  be  the  chief  of  the 
cities  upon  the  great  lakes;  St.  Louis  must  forever 
remain  the  mistress  of  the  commerce  and  trade  and 
wealth  of  the  great  Mississippi  basin,  with  New  Or- 
leans as  her  seaport  upon  the  south,  Baltimore, 
Newport  News,  Norfolk  on  the  Chesapeake  Bay,  her 
ports  upon  the  east.  St.  Louis  is  self-contained.  She 
owns  herself.  Most  of  the  real  estate  in  and  out  of 
St.  Louis  is  owned  by  her  citizens.  Her  mortgages 
are  held  by  her  own  banks  and  trust  companies. 
Chicago  is  said  to  be  chiefly  owned  by  the  financiers 
of  Boston  and  New  York.  The  St.  Louisian,  when 
he  makes  his  pile  and  stacks  his  fortune,  builds  a 
home  there  and  invests  his  hoard.  The  Chicagoan 
when  he  Avins  a  million  in  the  wheat  pit  or,  like 
Yerkes,  makes  it  out  of  street  railway  deals,  hies 
himself  to  New  York  and  forgets  that  he  ever  lived 
west  of  Buffalo. 

Hence,  you  find  a  quite  different  spirit  prevailing 
among  the  people  of  St.  Louis  from  Chicago.  This 
difference  in  mental  attitude  toward  the  city  the 
stranger  first  entering  St.  Louis  apprehends  at  once, 
and  each  time  he  returns  to  visit  the  great  city,  that 


ALONG  IOWA,  INTO  MISSOURI  TO  ST.  LOUIS.        319 

impression  deepens.  I  felt  it  when  first  I  visited 
St.  Louis  just  eleven  years  ago,  when  attending  the 
first  Nicaragua  Canal  Convention  as  a  delegate  from 
West  Virginia.  I  have  felt  it  more  keenly  on  every 
occasion  when  I  have  returned. 

The  Great  Union  Depot  of  St.  Louis  is  the  pride 
of  the  city.  It  was  designed  after  the  model  of  the 
superb  Central  Bahnhof  of  Frankfort  on  the  Main, 
in  Germany,  the  largest  in  Europe,  but  is  bigger  and 
more  conveniently  .arranged.  In  the  German  sta- 
tion, I  noted  a  certain  disorderliness.  Travelers  did 
not  know  just  what  trains  to  enter,  and  often  had 
to  climb  down  out  of  one  car  to  climb  up  into  an- 
other, and  then  try  it  again.  Here,  although  a  much 
greater  number  of  trains  come  in  and  go  out  in  the 
day,  American  method  directs  the  traveler  to  the 
proper  train  almost  as  a  matter  of  course. 

From  the  station  we  took  our  way  to  the  Southern 
Hotel,  for  so  many  years,  and  yet  to-day,  the  chief 
hostelry  in  the  city.  A  building  of  white  marble, 
covering  one  entire  block,  with  four  entrances  con- 
verging upon  the  office  in  the  center.  Here  the 
Southern  planters  and  Mississippi  steamboat  cap- 
tains always  tarry,  here  the  corn  and  cattle  kings 
of  Kansas  and  the  great  Southwest  congregate.  The 
politicians  of  Missouri,  too,  have  always  made  the 
Southern  a  sort  of  political  exchange.  Other  and 
newer  hotels,  like  the  Planters,  have  been  built  in 
St.  Louis,  but  none  has  ever  outclassed  the  South- 
ern.    We  were  not  expecting  to  tarry  long  at  the 


320  IN    TO   THE   YUKON. 

hotel,  nor  did  we,  for  after  waiting  only  a  short 
interval  in  the  wide  reception-room,  a  carriage  drove 
up,  a  gracious-mannered  woman  in  black  descended, 
and  we  were  soon  in  the  keeping  of  one  of  the  most 
delightful  hostesses  of  old  St.  Louis.  Her  carriage 
was  at  our  command,  her  time  was  ours,  her  home 
our  own  so  long  as  we  should  remain.  And  we  had 
never  met  her  until  the  bowing  hotel  clerk  brought 
her  smiling  to  us.  So  much  for  acquaintance  with 
mutual  friends. 

The  morning  was  spent  visiting  the  more  no- 
table of  the  great  retail  stores,  viewing  the  miles 
of  massive  business  blocks,  watching  the  volume  of 
heavy  traffic  upon  the  crowded  streets.  At  noon  we 
lunched  with  our  hostess  in  a  home  filled  with  rare 
books  and  objects  of  art,  collected  during  many 
years  of  foreign  residence  and  travel,  and  I  was 
taken  to  the  famous  St.  Louis  Club,  shown  over  its 
imposing  granite  club-house,  and  put  up  there  for  a 
fortnight,  should  I   stay  so  long. 

In  the  afternoon  we  were  driven  through  the 
sumptuous  residence  section  of  the  city  out  toward 
the  extensive  park  on  whose  western  borders  are  now 
erected  the  aggregation  of  stupendous  buildings  of 
the  Louisiana  Purchase  Exposition.  This  residence 
section  of  St.  Louis  has  always  been  impressive  to 
me.  There  is  so  much  of  it.  The  mansions  are  so 
diverse  in  architecture,  so  splendid  in  design.  "Pal- 
aces," they  would  be  called  in  England,  in  Ger- 
many, in  France.     Here  the  plain  St.  Louisian  saya 


ALONG  IOWA,  INTO  MISSOURI  TO  ST.  LOUIS.        321 

"Come  up  to  my  house,"  and  walks  you  into  the 
palace  with  no  ado.  Evidences  of  the  material 
wealth  of  this  great  city  they  are.  Not  one,  not  two, 
but  tens  and  hundreds  of  palatial  homes.  Men  and 
women  live  in  them  whom  you  and  I  have  never  read 
about,  have  never  heard  about,  will  never  know  about, 
yet  there  they  are,  successful,  intelligent,  influential 
in  the  affairs  of  this  Republic  quite  as  much  so  as 
you  and  I.  And  the  larger  part  of  these  splendid 
mansions  are  lived  in  by  men  and  women  who  rep- 
resent in  themselves  that  distinctively  American  qual- 
ity of  ' '  getting  on. ' '  One  granite  palace  pointed  out 
to  me,  is  inhabited  by  a  man  and  his  wife,  neither 
of  whom  can  more  than  read  and  write.  Yet  both  are 
gifted  with  great  good  sense,  and  he  lives  there  be- 
cause he  saved  his  wages  when  a  chore  hand  in  a 
brewery  until  at  last  he  owned  the  brewery.  An- 
other beautiful  home  is  possessed  by  a  man  who  be- 
gan as  a  day  laborer  and  then  struck  it  rich  digging 
gold  in  the  Black  Hills.  Calves  and  cattle  built  one 
French  chateau;  corn,  plain  corn,  built  several  more, 
and  cotton  and  mules  a  number  of  others.  Steam- 
boats and  railways,  and  trade  and  commerce  and 
manufactures  have  built  miles  of  others,  while  the 
great  Shaw's  Botanical  Garden,  established  and  en- 
dowed and  donated  to  the  city,  came  from  a  miserly 
bachelor  banker's  penchant  to  stint  and  save.  The 
incomes  of  the  hustling  citizens  of  St.  Louis  remain 
her  own ;  the  incomes  of  the  rent-payers  of  Chicago, 
like  the  interest  on  her  mortgages,  go  into  the  pock- 


r?22  IN   TO   THE   YUKON. 

ets  of  stranger  owners  who  dwell  in  distant  cities 
in  the  East. 

The  extensive  Fair  grounds  and  Exposition  Build- 
ings were  driven  upon  and  among.  A  gigantic  en- 
terprise, an  ambitious  enterprise.  St.  Louis  means 
to  outdo  Chicago,  and  this  time  Chicago  will  surely 
be  outdone.  The  buildings  are  bigger  and  there  are 
more  of  them  than  at  Chicago.  They  are  painted 
according  to  a  comprehensive  color  scheme,  not  left 
a  blinding  white,  less  gaudy  than  the  French  effort 
of  1900,  more  harmonious  than  the  Pan-American 
effects  at  Buffalo  two  years  ago.  The  prevailing 
tints  are  cream  white  for  the  perpendicular  walls 
and  statuary,  soft  blues,  greens,  reds,  for  the  roofs 
and  pinnacles,  and  much  gilding.  More  than  twenty 
millions  of  dollars  are  now  being  expended  upon 
this  great  Exposition  show.  For  one  brief  summer 
it  is  to  dazzle  the  world,  forever  it  is  to  glorify  St. 
Louis.  The  complacent  St.  Louisian  now  draws  a 
long  breath  and  mutters  contentedly,  "Thank  God, 
for  one  time  Chicago  isn't  in  it."  The  Art  buildings 
alone  are  to  be  permanent.  They  are  not  yet  com- 
plete. I  wonder  whether  it  will  be  possible  to  have 
them  as  splendidly  sumptuous  as  were  the  marble 
Art  Palaces  I  beheld  in  Paris  three  years  ago — the 
only  works  of  French  genius  I  saw  in  that  Exposition 
that  seemed  to  me  worthy  of  the  greatness  of  France. 
The  Exposition  grounds  and  buildings  are  yet  in  an 
inchoate  condition,  and  but  for  the  fact  that  Ameri- 
cans are  doing  and  pushing  the  work,  one  would  deem 


ALONG  IOWA,  INTO  MISSOURI  TO  ST.  LOUIS.        323 

it  impossible  for  the  undertaking  to  be  completed 
within  the  limited  time.  As  it  is,  many  a  West  Vir- 
ginian and  Kanawhan  will  next  summer  enjoy  to  the 
full  these  evidences  of  American  power. 

In  the  late  afternoon  we  were  entertained  at  the 
Country  Club,  a  delightful  bit  of  field  and  meadow 
and  woodland,  a  few  miles  beyond  the  city.  Here 
the  tired  business  man  may  come  from  the  desk  and 
shop  and  warehouse  and  office,  and  play  like  a  boy 
in  the  sunshine  and  among  green,  living  things.  Here 
the  young  folk  of  the  big  city,  some  of  them,  gather 
for  evening  dance  and  quiet  suppers  when  the  sum- 
mer heat  makes  city  life  too  hard.  Here  golf  and 
polo  are  played  all  through  the  milder  seasons  of 
the  year.  We  were  asked  to  remain  over  for  the  fol- 
lowing day,  when  a  polo  match  would  be  played.  We 
should  have  liked  to  see  the  ponies  chase  the  ball,  but 
our  time  of  holiday  was  coming  to  an  end.  We  might 
not  stay. 

In  the  evening  we  were  entertained  at  a  most  de- 
lightful banquet.  A  large  table  of  interesting  and 
cultivated  people  were  gathered  to  meet  ourselves. 
We  had  never  met  them  before,  we  might  never  meet 
them  again,  but  for  the  brief  hour  we  were  as  though 
intimates  of  many  years. 

All  the  night  we  came  speeding  across  the  rolling 
prairie  lands  of  Illinois  and  Indiana  into  Ohio.  A 
country  I  have  seen  before,  a  landscape  wide  and 
undulating,  filled  with  immense  wheat  and  corn 
fields.     The  home  of  a  well-established  and  affluent 


324  IN    TO   THE    YUKON. 

population.  The  sons  and  grandsons  of  the  pioneers 
who,  in  the  early  days  of  the  last  century,  poured 
in  from  all  quarters  of  the  East,  many  Virginians  and 
Kanawhans  among  the  number.  A  country  from 
which  the  present  younger  generations  have  gone 
and  are  now  going  forth  into  the  land  yet  fur- 
ther west,  and  even  up  into  the  as  yet  untenanted 
prairies  and  plains  of  the  Canadian  north. 

In  the  morning  we  were  in  Cincinnati  and  felt 
almost  at  home.  The  city,  smoky  as  usual,  marred 
by  the  blast  of  the  great  fire  of  the  early  summer. 
The  throngs  upon  the  streets  were  just  about  as  nu- 
merous, just  about  as  hustling  as  those  elsewhere  we 
have  seen,  yet  there  was  a  variation.  The  men  not 
so  tall,  more  chunky  in  build,  bigger  round  the  girth, 
stolid,  solid.  The  large  infusion  of  German  blood 
shows  itself  in  Cincinnati,  even  more  than  in  St. 
Louis,  where  the  lank  Westerner  is  more  in  evidence. 

It  was  dusk  when  the  glimmering  lights  of  Charles- 
ton showed  across  the  placid  Kanawha.  We  were 
once  more  at  home.  We  had  been  absent  some  sev- 
enty days;  we  had  journeyed  some  eight  thousand 
miles  upon  sea  and  lake  and  land.  We  had  enjoyed 
perfect  health.  We  had  met  no  mishap.  We  had 
traveled  from  almost  the  Arctic  Circle  to  the  sight 
of  Mexico.  We  had  traversed  the  entire  Pacific  coast  of 
the  continent  from  Skagway  to  Los  Angeles.  We  had 
twice  crossed  the  continent.  We  had  beheld  the  great- 
ness of  our  country,  the  vigor  and  wealth  and  energy 
of  many  cities,  the  splendor  and  power  of  the  Republic. 


MAP  OF  ROUTE  IN  UNITED   STATES. 


MAP  OF  UPPER  YUKON   BASIV. 


INDEX. 


Agricultural  and  grazing 
wealth    of    Colorado,    305. 

Animal  life,  121. 

An  outlaw  at  White  Horse 
Rapids,   178. 

A  prospector's  story,  203. 

Atlin,  75,  88. 

A  wild  night,  201. 

Banff,  30. 

Bathing   in   Salt   Lake,   280. 

Bird  notes,  28,  65,  131,  201. 

Bishop  Bompas,  115. 

Bishop  Bompas  on  the  Coast 
Indians,   214. 

Blanket  concessions  from 
Ottawa,  145. 

Boyle,  146. 

British  Columbia  River,  40. 

Broncho-busting  match,  283- 
299. 

Canadian  Pacific  Railway, 
27. 

Canadian  Rockies,  47. 

Caribou  Station,  81. 

Cascades,  220. 

Chinatown,  234. 

Cincinnati,  325. 

Clarence  Straight,  60. 

Climate  of  Oregon,  228. 

Cold  of  the  north  land,  186. 

Colorado  and  Denver,  300. 

Crossing  the  Rockies,  38. 

Dangerous  navigation,  200. 

Dawson  Charlie,  81,  115. 

Dawson  City,  112,  132,  136. 

Dawson  Horticultural  So- 
ciety, 150. 

Del  Monte  hotel  at  Mon- 
terey, 241. 


Detroit  River,  13. 

Dixon  Channel  and  Port 
Simpson,  59. 

Dogs — iMalamutes  and  Hus- 
kies, 136,  180. 

Dog  ranch,  149. 

Dr.  Grant,  of  St.  Andrews 
Hospital,  171. 

Edmonton    to   Dawson,    174. 

Fifty  Mile  River,  121. 

First  glimpse  of  the  Great 
Salt  Lake,  266. 

Fort  Selkirk,  128. 

Fort  Wrangel,  65. 

Fraser  River,  43. 

Frederick   Sound,   66. 

Freezing  of  the  Yukon,  193. 

French  Canadian  trapper, 
173. 

Glacier  Hotel,  43. 

Glenwood   Springs,   283. 

Government  of  Yukon  Ter- 
ritory, 87. 

Grand  River,  282. 

Grand  Trunk  Pacific  Rail- 
way, 35. 

Grayling,  82,  117. 

Green  River,  282. 

Gulf  of  Georgia,  56. 

Hells  Gates,  127. 

How  the  Government 
searches  for  gold,  195. 

Icebergs    and    whales,    66 

Immigrants  from  the  U.  S., 
30. 

Indian"  laborers  in  Wash- 
ington and  Oregon,  213. 

International  boundary  line, 
76. 


[NDEX. 


Japanese  on  the  coast,  234. 

Japanese    rice    planter,    258. 

Juneau,    69. 

Ketchikan,  59. 

Kicking  Horse  River,  39. 

Klondike,   154. 

Lake  Atlin,  88. 

Lake  Bennett,   76. 

Lake  Lebarge,  121. 

Lake  Marsh,  88. 

Lake  St.  Clair,  14. 

Lake    Superior,    18. 

Lake  Taggish,  93. 

Los  Angeles,  249. 

Los    Angeles    to    Salt   Lake 

City,  260. 
Lynn  Canal,  70. 
Luxurious  living  in  Dawson, 

165. 
Narrow-gauge  railway   from 

Skagway,  75. 
Northwest    Mounted    Police, 

172. 
Mackinac,  14. 
Miles  Canon,  116. 
Millbank  Sound,  203. 
Mineral  wealth  of  Colorado, 

304. 
Mining   on    Bonanza   Creek, 

140,   154. 
Mining  on  El  Dorado  Fork, 

157. 
Mining  on  Pine  Creek,  94. 
Mining    on    Hunker    Creek, 

158. 
Minneapolis,  24. 
Mode  of  living  at  the  dig- 
gings, 108. 
Mojave  Desert,  257. 
Monterey,  241. 
Mormon  literature,  273. 
Mormon  Temple,  270. 
Mt.  Shasta,  226. 
Nebraska,  307. 
Ogden    to    Salt    Lake    City, 
269. 


Omaha,  310. 

Otter   Creek,   101. 

Our     landlady     at     Dawson, 

163. 
Peace   River,   33. 
Pelly  River,  128. 
Placer  mining,  94. 
Portland,  218. 
Preparations      for      winter, 

180. 
Presidio,  234. 
Ptarmigan,    101. 
Public    school     in     Dawson. 

172. 
Puget  Sound  cities,  218. 
Puget   Sound   crabs,   209. 
Queen   Charlotte   Sound,   56. 
Returning     travellers     from 

the  Klondike,  207. 
Ride  along  the  coast,  242. 
Ride  to  Portland,  216. 
Ride  to  Yakima,  215. 
Salmon,  60. 

Salmon  at  Ketchikan,  59. 
Salmon     in     the     Columbia 

River,  220. 
Salt  Lake  City,  270. 
Salt  Lake  City  to  Glenwood 

Springs,  Colorado,  282. 
San  Francisco,  230. 
Santa  Barbara,  242. 
Santa  Cruz,  238. 
San  Joaquin  Valley,  257. 
Sausalito    and    Mt.    Tamal- 

pais,   233. 
Sault  St.   Marie,  17. 
Sawmill  at  Tacoma,  212. 
Seattle,  206. 
Secret    of    the    success    of 

Mormonism   in  Utah,  275. 
Silver  Bow  River,  30. 
Skagway,  70,  75. 
Spruce  Creek,  102. 
Steamer    "City    of    Seattle," 

52. 
Steamer  White  Horse,  116. 


INDEX. 


Stewart  River,  128. 
St.  Louis,  317. 
St.  Paul,  20,  22. 
Sutton,  geologist,  93. 
Tacoma,  210. 
The  Five   Fingers,   127. 
Thirty  Mile  River,  122. 
Treadgold,  146. 
Treadwell  mines,  69. 
Trip  to  the  Taku  Glacier,  109. 
Upper   Yukon,   122. 
Up    the    Yukon    from    Daw- 
son, 180. 
U.   S.  Fish  Commission,  82. 


Valley  of  the  Willamette,  224. 
Vancouver,   48,    51. 
Victoria,   48,   51,   52. 
Washington    State    Fair    at 

Yakima,  214. 
Wheat  land,  26,  29,  34,  35. 
White  Pass,  87. 
Wild  sheep  and  goats,  101. 
Winnipeg,  26. 
Work    in     the    diggings    in 

winter,  192. 
Yukon  above  Dawson,  131. 
Zodiacal    lights    in    winter. 

192. 


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